Until the End
by hermionerose1998
Summary: 50 Romione One Shots. It wasn't easy. They made it though. Ron and Hermione finally have a life together ahead of them. Some things are wonderful, some things not so much, but they will stand by each other until the very end.
1. Leaving Time

Autumn's Kiss

 **Authors Note: Hey, so, if you've read any of my other fan fictions before, you may have noticed the year hiatus that I seemed to have taken. I have had my GCSE's this year and am currently awaiting the results. I've been dabbling with a Hugo fanfiction for the past few months but to ease myself into it, I'm going to be doing one shots from writing prompts found here at !**

Chapter 1: Leaving Time

 _Prompt: #15 Leaving_

A suitcase lay full. The final remnants of socks and underwear were scattered on top of the already neatly pressed, ironed and folded clothing. Smelling of muggle fabric conditioner, Ron removed one piece from the jumper jigsaw and inhaled it's scent. A smell of home, peace, and wherever Hermione was. This would be greatly missed.

He was leaving. Not permanently, but still.

He was leaving, and he wouldn't be back for a while.

Pressing down on the suitcase lid, the zip was fastened and after tugging at the stiff handle, Ron headed downstairs.

 _I don't want to do this, no matter how much I have to._

 _I don't want to do this. But I will. Because he's my brother._

 _They both are._

Hermione was sat on a plum sofa with her head in her hands. Sun streamed through the curtains in the early hours of the morning. This wasn't going to be easy on anyone, especially not now. Everything was still raw and painful, wounds hadn't healed – not that they ever would fully, but that wasn't the point. This needed to be done. For George. For Fred.

Stepping over, Hermione embraced him. Her wedding ring pressed into his right palm as they stood silently. April 2nd 2003. One month and it would be five years. Five years since everything had ended.

Five years of pain.

Five years without Fred.

"You don't have to leave."

"Yes. I do"

"Of course you do." Hermione sighed, a weak smile brushed over her mouth. "It's just me being stupid."

Ron exhaled shakily, leaning back against a cream coloured wall. "Twenty Five. He should have made it to that age. Nobody shouldn't. I remember when we were little, and us talking about the future. And he just said " _when I'm really old, like 25 or 30, I want my own family, like ours, but not so big."_ He should have had that, Hermione. And maybe that's one of the things that hurts George so much. The fact that he had what Fred wanted – little Fred. And his twin didn't."

"Time is a healer, love. Anyone can see the happiness he has when he's with his son. Of course, it will never stop hurting, but he's got so much better." Hermione reminded him.

A mission had been carved in stone 2 weeks ago. There were pieces of Fred's belongings – not many, but a few, that George wanted to scatter. To leave behind somewhere. Both in places that Fred loved and dreamed of seeing. Sorting through what Fred had left behind, they found a scarf, some shoes, pages of magic books, all sorts. These would leave a mark. They would leave _Fred's_ mark, on the Earth.

They - George, Ron, and Ginny, would be away for some time, travelling to these places. It wasn't clear how long, but they wouldn't be returning soon. As important as she knew this was, Hermione couldn't begin to describe how much she'd miss Ron.

As time came around for Ron to depart, they embraced once again, parting reluctantly. "I'm going to miss you... SO much..." Hermione choked

"I'll miss you. But remember, wherever I am and whatever I'm doing, I'll be right..." He replied lifting is hand to Hermione's heart, "here."

She wouldn't cry. She told herself she wouldn't cry. And she didn't – on the outside at least. The pain inside was much more immense. And Ron felt the same bitter taste of departure too.

An unlocked door.

Footsteps off carpet onto concrete.

A final kiss goodbye.

Then, he was gone. And the early morning mist carried the light of Hermione's life away.


	2. Delayed

Chapter 2: Delayed Time

Prompt #13: Waiting

 _December 2023_

There had been delays on the line. The train was late.

Waiting was one thing, anticipating was another. Waiting for their children to come home from Hogwarts had become a ritual over the past 6 years for Ron and Hermione; as had it been for Robert and Helena (Hermione's parents), and Arthur and Molly (Ron's). It was December 21st and the air was bitterly cold. The boots she wore were insulating, but they weren't preventing her toes slowly growing numb. God did she wish that train would hurry up.

"What have I missed?" Ron said, coming back towards Hermione's bench from disposing their coffee cups.

"Nothing much, delays. Probably sheep or snow, or something like that." Hermione sighed.

"You'd think there would be spells to sort problems like this."

"There's also this thing called animal cruelty. Not many people are fans of it."

"You know what I mean. Every minute they're delayed is a minute less we will have with them. And it's Christmas Hermione, it's _Christmas._ And it's Rose's 17th birthday in a few days. And New Year, and-"

"I get it Ron, tis the season to be jolly." Hermione breathed. Their daughter would be 17 in 3 days. An adult in the magical world at least. The time had gone by so quickly, it didn't seem real. It felt like yesterday that she was taking her first steps across their living room carpet, Hermione stood behind her to prevent a fall, and Ron in front, arms stretched wide like his grin, as she toddled towards him.

"What did you get her?" Ron asked, probably wanting to know that he hadn't bought the same thing.

"Books. Of course." Hermione smiled, "There were some fiction ones she wanted from a bookshop in Piccadilly. And that necklace she saw when we took her into the city in October. Those amongst other things... You?"

"Books as well, and a lot of things I saw when I was doing the Christmas shopping."

"How much did you get her?"

"What does it matter? It's a special birthday! Besides, we need to make it better than mine was, as long as she doesn't drink poison and end up in St Mungo's in the next few days, we'll be good."

Hermione laughed at his statement, shaking her head in derision and sighing. "Fine, well remember that next year is big too. She'll be an adult in both worlds then at least. Which means legally she'll be able to do all the things we've hoped she never would."

"Like?"

"Drink, smoke, get married, that sort of thing." Hermione trailed off. At "get married" Ron choked on oxygen. "What, Ronald?"

"Sorry, just the thought of Rose getting married is a little alarming."

"Calm down, it's not like she's had a boyfriend... or girlfriend... for that matter. Marriage will be far off, dear." Hermione sighed, but inside she realised how it was a worry of hers. More a fear. The years had passed so quickly, and it didn't feel like the pace of the world and the tick of the clock ever slowed. Rose. Their daughter, was halfway through her sixth year of Hogwarts, and yet there were times when Hermione woke up and was convinced she needed to get ready for History of Magic or Transfiguration. Soon enough, this year would blur into next. And this decade would blur into the next too. Rose would be getting a job in the next couple of years. Perhaps later down the line she'd get married and have her own children. And then they'd be grandparents. Grandparents. The thought made Hermione visibly shiver. They weren't old enough to be Grandparents. Ron at least, would _never_ feel old enough to be someone's grandparent – even if he were eighty five.

Hugo too. Their son was in his fourth year. Being the younger of the two, he may have grown but it still felt like he was an anxious first year, nervous about his sorting. But now here he was nearly fifteen. They were both growing up so quickly, and that both scared and thrilled Ron and Hermione.

A clearly whistle came from the distance. The Hogwarts Express. "it's here," Hermione smiled as they got up from the bench, waiting for the train to empty as it pulled into Platform 9 and 3/4 . it wasn't until most of the students had cleared off the platform and met their parents, that Hugo, Rose following behind stepped off the train. Standing at the bottom of the steps further along the platform, it appeared as if they were looking for their parents. Ron caught Hugo's attention, gesturing a wave, and the children didn't walk, but ran towards them pulling their suitcases in tow.

"Mum! Dad!" Hugo called. There had come a point where, although they'd never done it themselves, Ron and Hermione both believed that their children would stop hugging them or showing affection. Simply develop the moody teenager stage – but it had never happened. And now when Hugo flung his arms around Hermione and Rose hugged Ron. The adults exchanged a knowing look over the shoulders of their children, just relieved to see them home.

"How was school? Are you okay? Any homework? Are you sure you've got all your things?" Hermione said, going on to embrace her daughter tightly.

"God, Hermione, let them breathe." Ron chuckled.

"No, you're right, you're right. It's Christmas. You need a break from it all." Hermione sighed and Rose's head turned so fast, she could have got whiplash.

"Are- are you serious, Mum." Hugo asked, and Hermione could hear Ron sniggering as this conversation unfolded.

"Well do you have any homework?"

"No-" Rose said

"And you've just had exams."

"Well, yes..." Hugo said.

"Then relax! It's Christmas, and Rose, it's nearly your birthday!" Hermione said, taking Hugo's suitcase and pulling it along behind her, talking to Hugo as they walked towards the entrane. Ron and Rose trailed behind, close, but far enough away for Rose to mutter to her father "What have you been feeding her?"

Ron roared with laughter, and they headed off back into the cold wintery muggle world.


	3. Those Christmas Lights

Chapter 3: Those Christmas Lights

Prompt #100: Light

 _December 2014_

It may be Christmas. That may be what it said on the calendar, December had arrived in a flurry of cold and drizzling rain. Of tinsel, fir trees inside, and the smell of cinnamon. But to Hugo Weasley, that wasn't how it felt.

Ron turned the key, letting the children bustle into the house after the Primary School day had ended. He was chief-of-the-school-run whilst they were in the Muggle school system. Hermione's work hours were longer than his, so generally Ron was the one who collected the Rose and Hugo. Chucking the rucksacks of his children that he'd carried home onto the sofa, Ron headed into the kitchen, and Rose headed upstairs to change out of her polyester uniform. Hugo would normally do the same, but instead tonight he sat on the sofa's arm and looked out of the window.

It wasn't until Hermione arrived home half an hour later, that anyone realised what was going on.

"Hey love." Ron said, leaning over the kitchen table to kiss her.

"What's Hugo doing by the window?" Hermione said, breaking the kiss, and gesturing into the living room

"What do you mean? He was fine when we got back home. I thought he'd gone upstairs with Rose like he normally does."

"Look," She said leading him into the living room, where Hugo was sat, still in his uniform, watching the outside world silently. It was dark outside now, and as traffic trundled past, it was only the street lamps that gave light to the streets. "Hugo, darling, why are you sat in the dark? Dinner's nearly ready." Hermione said, kneeling down next to her son.

"You know, school's finished until after Christmas, you don't have to wear your uniform, now." Ron said, chuckling quietly, gaining a look of " _really Ron? Really?"_ from Hermione.

"I'm waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"The snow of course. It's not Christmas without snow." Hugo said cheerily, his face lighting up in the darkness of the fairy lights on the Christmas tree and lamps scattered around the living room.

There was a part of Hermione's heart that melted when she heard this. Whether it be melting with love, or with sorrow for her son was unclear. They'd been lucky for the past few years, and snow had arrived in their little corner of the outskirts of London. However, this year none had been forecast. Just rain, drizzly, cold and bitter as it hit the window panes. The hope and excitement etched on his face meant that neither of Hugo's parents had the heart to tell them there wouldn't be snow this year at least.

"Are you going to come to dinner, at least?" Hermione suggested

"No, thank you, I'm not hungry." Their son said; hope lying pure in his voice.

"It'll go cold?"

"So will the snow, and I'm waiting for it." Hugo replied.

"Fine," Hermione sighed, climbing up the first few steps before calling up, "Rose, darling! Dinner's ready!" The eight year old came bounding down, a mass of red curls flying behind her as she walked through the living room and towards the kitchen.

"What's the matter with Hugo, Daddy?" Rose said, climbing up into the chair next to her father at the dining table.

Ron smiled gently before saying, "I'm not sure Rosie, but I think I know how to fix it."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Hugh, do you want to come out and see the Christmas lights? We're going to turn them on?" Ron called as he passed through the living room, kneeling down and pulling Rose's bobble hat further down on her frizzy, somewhat untamed, wild hair. He already knew the answer that was coming, but he still had faith that maybe Hugo would just let it go.

"I'm staying here, Daddy, so I can see the snow."

The lights were lit and the Weasley's little house suddenly looked as if it had been ignited by fireworks. The beauty of the muggle Christmas lights was enchanting, and the glow in Rose's eyes, and Hugo's from inside the house seemed like a prize that could never be otherwise won without this kind of elaborate decoration. But still, no snow.

"Hermione, I have an idea."Ron said, touching Hermione's elbow as he leaned towards her in the cold, bitter air.

"Is this about the snow?" Hermione muttered back, so Rose couldn't hear as she stood in front of them, Hermione's hands resting on her daughter's shoulders. Rose was too fascinated by the glowing lights to ever be listening to them right now.

"yes." Ron said, "Remember in sixth year when I made it snow in the Great Hall? What if I do it again? For Hugo."

Hermione's mouth curled slightly into a smile as he spoke,"You mean wandless magic? Of course, that's brilliant. But we'll both need to do it if we're going to create enough snow for it to look realistic."

Hermione focussed her eyes and Ron closed did the same. As they began to think hard enough about the white froze ice that would fall from the sky, cold flakes, almost raindrops began to fall, brushing their faces as they tumbled downwards. It was too soon, far too soon for it to have been either Ron nor Hermione.

"Was that you?" Hermione said, puzzled and turning towards Ron.

"No... you?"

"No-"

"Mummy, Daddy, it's snowing!" Hugo cheered.

And it was. The snow was falling thick and heavy, which was hard to believe given the small snowflakes only a few seconds before. The delight on Hugo's face was something that could never have been replicated or formed by the snow that his parents had planned on creating for him. It was really, and truly beautiful. As their son reached Ron and Hermione, he embraced Hermione with such force he could have knocked her over. In that moment both Ron and Hermione realised that maybe it would always be Christmas to them at this time of year, snow or no snow, to a child, the lights, the tree, the cold weather, it symbolised everything.

"it really snowed." Hugo beamed as Hermione knelt down to his level, "Merry Christmas, Mummy."

"Merry Christmas, Hugo." Hermione replied, embracing her son once again as they all watched the frozen ice fall.

 **AUTHORS NOTE: This is firstly inspired by Christmas Lights by Coldplay – an amazing Christmas song. Also, I know it's a few days late, but MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


	4. An Interference

**Chapter 4: An Interference**

 **Prompts #67 Misbehaviour**

 _2023_

She re-entered the common room at an unnatural speed. Hugo thought it was like she was running away from something. The door suddenly slammed shut, and Rose Weasley emerged from Gryffindor house's entrance. Her face had paled to a ghostly white, and the grimace spread across her mouth screamed negativity.

"Hey, what's up?" Hugo said to a seventh year Rose.

"Trust me, you don't want to know." She sighed, dumping her books on the table and flopping onto the sofa next to her younger brother. The common room had expanded since the days of their parents, aunts, and uncles. It had grown and changed as times had with it. Although it was furnished and decorated just as it had been before, now in early December of 2023, more sofas, and seating were available to the students of Gryffindor house, and the overall size was a little larger, meaning more room for students to move around in. Right now, there were other students, from all years, mulling around, but the corner Hugo was acquiring right now was a lot quieter. Rose slumped as she sat down, sighing. Hugo shuffled the books away, hoping that maybe if there wasn't a distraction such as studying near her, he'd get information out of his older sister.

"don't want to know what?" the deep, quiet voice of Scorpius Malfoy emerged through the mass of chatter in the common room, joining Rose and Hugo on the other side of Rose on the sofa. Hugo wasn't ever surprised that he'd taken a liking to his older sister's friend. Of course, they'd been told many mixed things about the Malfoy family in their childhood, mainly coming from their father. But the way Rose had always spoke about Scorpius – even from the start of their friendship near the end of first year – with light in her voice, as if he was one of the greatest lights that shone when she thought of Hogwarts. Ron had been unsure of the friendship of first, and had surprisingly been wrong to be so. Scorpius had care in his voice, and sincerity in his eyes, something that made Hugo believe that he was a genuinely good friend to his sister.

"Again, you _really_ don't want to know." Rose's voice trailed, visibly shivering for dramatic effect.

"Go on, pleeeeeaaasssse." Scorpius said, nudging Rose with his elbow. She quickly scowled and rolled her eyes in response to his actions.

"Alright! Alright! But you can't tell the people involved we know about this."

"Promise." Hugo said, encouraging the development of the story.

"So, Albus and Jenny are back together." Rose declared, a grumble in her tone.

"Wait – why are you so unhappy about that, their two of our best friends?" Scorpius asked. It was true, Jenny was Jennifer Thomas, daughter of Dean and Katie Bell. A friendship was formed between the three of Albus, and Rose by the end of first year, but then Rose had become friends with Jenny early after their sorting through sharing a dorm room. They had always been friends with Jenny – especially Rose, but it was when Albus and Jenny had bother been trying out for the same position on the fifth year Quidditch team that they had grown progressively closer.

"Because I _saw_ them... i- I saw them getting back together." Rose breathed.

"How... do tell." Hugo asked

"Oh, Hugo, you're such a romantic." Scorpius remarked, both roaring with laughter.

"Back to the story." Rose interrupted, clearing her throat, "I was looking for a text book on Transfiguring insects into muggle objects, fascinating subject... Anyway, once I'd found it I began reading, and there was this noise. A noise coming from a few aisles down, like giggling or chuckling. So I went down, maybe planning to tell them to keep it down so others could concentrate, and there they were."

"Come again?" said Hugo

"I saw them in the library. And they weren't studying the books." A cry of weakness was evident in her voice at the thought emerging in her mind once again. A moment of silence hollered between the three before the faces of disgust of Hugo and Scorpius turned into sniggered and laughter.

Rose folded her arms and placed her head on her knees, hoping as to forget it was all really happening. It wasn't every day that you walked in on your cousin and best friend, and it wasn't something she was in a hurry to remember either.

"There, there, Rosie." Scorpius spoke in attempt to be comforting, but the need to stifle laughter was pure and clear in his voice. A second scowl was cast in his direction,"it could have been wor-"

" _Don't_ even go there, Malfoy." Rose cut through his words like a knife in butter. "The last thing I require is that mental image." Silence fell once again, and Rose sat up, straightening herself out and brushing the wild, red curls of hair from her face. "They can never know about this, are we clear."

Laughter commenced once again, but this time it wasn't coming from Hugo or Scorpius. No, it was Albus instead, walking back through the common room, with Jenny of course. There was a noticeable distance between them, as if nothing had happened or they were pretending that nothing had happened.

"Hey Rose, I'm going up to bed, see you in a bit?" Jenny smiled, tapping her friend on the shoulder as she passed by.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be up in a few minutes." Rose replied, putting a small grin on her face as a concealer of her horror and disgust.

"Hey Al, guess what we heard..."Hugo called, hurriedly following his cousin up the stairs to the boys dormitories. Rose let out a whimper and sigh.

"He was going to find out anyway Rosie." Scorpius said softly. Although it may not have always been sincere, Scorpius had a way with words that could be guaranteed to bring comfort to Rose. She'd never quite known what it was, but as time went on and they got older, she was definitely beginning to get an idea.

"I know... " Rose replied, as she was about to get up and say goodnight, something came to mind. "You know, until tonight I don't think I'd ever heard you call me Rosie. It's always been Rose with you. "

"Sorry, I didn't realise – I'll stick to Rose if you want." Scorpius apologised.

"No, don't, it's- it's nice. Goodnight Scorpius."

"Rose, wait." Scorpius spoke once again. His voice was slightly wavering with a shake. Rose turned around, looking him directly in the eyes, her face was calm, and looked somewhat peaceful. This in itself was making the words Scorpius was about to say easier to speak. "Do you want to go out somewhere over Christmas. You know, eighteenth birthday and all that. I'll pay."

"Sure, have you checked with Al when he's free too?" Rose said merrily.

"No, I- I meant just you and me."

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Shall we sort a day on the way home tomorrow?" Rose's voice was now also shaking, her face burnt as shock hit her. This wasn't a date, but what if Scorpius liked her, what if he liked her back? It was probably just best friends going out somewhere together, but what if _finally_ after all this time waiting, it wasn't?

"That's great. Goodnight Rose." His voice cracked, he should have said it. He should have said what he meant. But he couldn't not yet. He'd tell her though, on the occasion.

"Goodnight Scor."

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Happy New Year everyone! I have a quick question that I'd really appreciate an answer to; which houses do you see Rose and Scorpius being sorted into? I'm currently writing a Scorose fanfic and really don't believe that Scorpius is a Slytherin, but what do** _ **you**_ **think**?


	5. Regrets of the Evening

Chapter 5; Regrets of the Evening

 **Prompt #58 – I Will Pay You to Shut Up**

There had been a party last night, as evident from the living room floor. A trail of littered cans, bottles, confetti and wrapping paper consumed the carpet, and lead directly towards the hall, staircase, and kitchen. Hermione, being Hermione, would have cast a spell, cleaning up the mess, had she not been in the same state as Ron, Rose and several Potters, who by this point were probably hung-over in their own kitchen. The mess that was the early morning was simply a consequence of what had unravelled several hours before.

 _Flashback_

 _ **11PM**_

 _The music wasn't loud, but it was far from quiet as people mulled around the room, some occupied the kitchen, and others sat on the stairs chatting. For the most part, drunken dancing was being attempted by older and slightly younger Weasley's._

" _Come on Hugo,_ " _Rose said, Beer in one hand prospectively for Hugo, and one for herself in the other._ " _it's just a beer, you know you want to._ _"_

" _I'm good thanks, Rosie, I'd like to at least have some memory of my 18_ _th_ _birthday party. " Hugo replied, lifting his bottle of water_

" _Suit yourself. " Rose smiled, turning away and looking for someone to give the beer. "Aunt Ginny, beer? " Ginny grinned, as Rose threw the bottle towards her, scoring with the catch of a former Holyhead Harpies Chaser._

" _Cheers, Rosie. " Ginny added, heading back over to where Hermione stood watching as her children blended back into the mass of other people. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to have more than one drink Hermione. "_

 _Hermione laughed, but ultimately remained solid in her position. "See, you say that, but someone's got to remain responsible as the night goes on. Besides I've had a glass of wine already. I mean – look at them... "_

 _She trailed, gesturing to her husband and Harry, both clearly already having had a couple of firewisky's and heading towards another, they'd got to the giggling stage of tipsy, sat in the corner and not acting like the 45 year olds they were. But both Ginny and Hermione knew there was a long way to go before they were fully drunk._

" _From what I just heard, Hugo's not drinking at all, so drink away, my friend. Drink away. "_

 _Silence fell between them for a few seconds, and Ginny drummed her fingers against the beer bottle in her left hand. "Oh what the hell. " Hermione declared, breaking the quiet and taking another swig of wine from her glass._

 **2AM**

' _Mum, Dad, are you still up_? _Don't you have work tomorrow_?' _Hugo said, shuffling downstairs in a dressing gown. All he heard in response was sniggering and snort-laughs coming from the living room. The image of his mum, dad, and sister looking dishevelled, and intoxicated beyond their minds emerged._

' _HUGO_ _!_ _HUGO_ _!_ _WHERE'VE YOU BEEN_ _?_ _' Rose yelled, her eyes alight with surprise._

' _Upstairs, like I told you an hour ago. It might be my party, but I have NEWTS to study for. And you two have work tomorrow.' He replied, pointing towards his parents. 'Upstairs and to bed looks like the best option for you two right now.'_

' _God, Hugo,' Hermione started 'You're such a Dad.' Ron and Rose roared with drunken laughter, as Ron took another swig of fire whiskey._

' _Yeah, Hugh, lighten up, there's alcohol_ _!'_ _Ron slurred, tripping over his own feet as he swayed towards the sofa._

' _You three have fun, try and get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning.' Hugo said, 'Remember there's some paracetamol and potions in the cupboard, and drink plenty of water. Also-'_

' _YES DAD!' Rose called_ _laughing again._ _It was too late for this, so Hugo shrugged enchanted glasses of water next to their beds on his way up, and went straight back to sleep._

Flashback ends

Now, at the 8 AM, the time at which Ron and Hermione would normally be heading off for work, things were rather different to the usual norm. Ron was slumped at the kitchen table, pale in the face, and weakly holding a glass of water. Rose lay with her head on the same table, her hair red, and wild. Frizzy, untamed in light of the hangover. Nobody had spoken that morning, just swift nods as they'd entered the kitchen and sat down.

'Never again.' Rose groaned, keeping her head face down, pressed against the oak.

'Agreed.' Ron said quietly.

'Agreed.' Hermione added, her voice making both of them jump.

'There's some water in the fridge.' Ron mumbled, returning to close his eyes on the table.

'Good morning, dear drunks!' A loud voice called, also entering the kitchen. The noise trembled through Ron, Hermione, and Rose's ears like deadly earthquakes, shaking their distorted worlds. A collective moan from the three was heard as they reacted to the noise. Hugo emerged, bright and fresh faced like last night had never occurred.

'You have work, remember.' Hugo reminded, looking between his parents.

'I've owled in sick.' Ron and Hermione said in unison, scowling, scorning the other for not going to work, but too tired to actually exchange words.

'Oh yes, and why's that. Had too much to drink did we' Hugo sniggered. 'Ah yes, while I remain bright and merry, your brain's and livers are drowning in oceans of toxins.'

It was at this point that Rose, having not moved a muscle in what seemed like an eternity, lifted her head, heavy under the weight of her vivid mane. She stared at her brother with piercing eyes, as if looking to the back of his brain, like lasers. It was true, Rose was unreasonably kind, and spent an awful lot of her time with her head in a book, but she could breathe fire like Ginny, something Ron proudly believed must be up to his genes.

'I will _pay_ you to shut up.' She said, her voice quiet, but unnaturally fierce. Though he had the upper hand, being sober, there would always be a part of Hugo scared to get on the wrong side of his older sister.

'No you wouldn't.'

'Do you want a bet?' Rose added. Her voice growing in fury as she spoke. Even Ron and Hermione had to admit, that at times, they were a little scared of Rose's wrath. Hugo was different, he lacked the fire that Rose possessed, but where Rose had such a quality, Hugo was smug and would drive this argument on for hours if he had the time.

' _sonorus'_ Hugo whispered, maximizing the volume of his voice. 'Well, I have to go. Lily and I are meeting up with some friends.' The sound the spell had created rattled through the brains of his family, something which in his soberness, he felt particularly proud of. 'SEE YOU LATER.'

Rose put her head back down on the table, once more joining the collective groan of Ron and Hermione. Never again would she drink so much, she had told herself. Of course, at twenty, there were still many years of life to come, many more opportunities to drink herself silly, and many more times would she say yes to another glass of fire whiskey or cider.

'I think he spends too much time around James.' Hermione mumbled, joining Ron and Rose at the table and brushing her hair out of her face with a tartan shirt sleeve.

'Agreed.'

'Agreed.'

The silence recommenced, with only the cars outside and a dripping tap for sound company. After a long night, the day begun.

 **Authors Note; RIP Alan Rickman – I know this is a few days late, but still. The news is terribly sad, and we've lost an incredible actor. He shaped the way I see Snape when I visualise the characters, and I hear his voice when I read his lines – and so do countless other people. A good person gone far too quickly.**


	6. Drive

Chapter 6 – Drive

Prompt #36 – Pain

 _September 2027_

She stumbled in at 2 AM. Her balance was unsteady and alcohol was on her breath. Not a lot. She rarely drank, meaning a little amount was enough to get her tipsy. She knew that more than a few glasses would lead to this, but she wasn't thinking. Today, and for the past few days even, she was on autopilot.

Ron saw her heading up the stairs before she could crash into anything. Muttering ' _lumos'_ under his breath, the drunken figure stumbling as she went by, emerged, pale of face and inhibitions dropped. 'Rose? Are you okay?'

'I'm –' Before she could finish, her movement stopped and she impulsively retched

'Woah, hang on Rosie...' Ron reached Rose, guiding her into the bathroom, where she continued to vomit. He hadn't had an encounter like this with Rose since she was fifteen and had developed food poisoning from a muggle restaurant.

'wuzzagoinon?' A voice came from behind Ron. Hugo stood in the doorway, pyjamas creased and red hair dishevelled from a few hours sleep. 'Oh.'

'Hugh, can you get me a bucket and put it next to Rose's bed please? Oh, and can we not tell your mum about this when she gets home tomorrow?' Hugo raised an eyebrow and Ron's pleading expression whilst he held Rose's hair back. Not having his wand at hand, the younger Weasley soon returned with a bucket and headed back to bed.

'I'm going to bed...' Rose trailed, finally moving herself away from where she had been knelt over the toilet. Surprisingly, in her drunkenness, and perhaps with Hermione's genes, Rose had managed to remove her shoes before collapsing into the bed.

'Yes, you are.' Ron chuckled, planting a kiss on her forehead, 'Get some sleep Rosie.' There would be time to ask questions later. Questions like _why were you wandering round at this time of day_? He knew that if he wasn't the one to, then Hermione would adopt her position as 'Chief interrogator,' hence not telling her about what had happened. But for now, those questions could wait, and instead, Ronald Weasley headed back to bed.

XXXXXXXXXX

She'd spent the whole day in her bedroom. Unless any summoning charms had been cast, she definitely hadn't eaten. Hermione was home after a double shift, and making dinner. She hadn't spoken to Rose in the best part of two days, nor was she aware of the drunken state she'd returned home in the previous night. All she, Hugo, and Ron knew was that she wouldn't talk to anybody, let alone open her door.

Hugo had hung around outside her room a couple of times; he even tried using one of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' Extended Ears. But he still couldn't hear anything, not even an _aguamenti_ for something to drink. After a while, having reported back to his parents, he gave up and headed out to meet with Lily and a few friends.

'Go talk to her.' Hermione hissed quietly, raising her eyebrows. She watched as Ron stood next to her in the kitchen, looking as concerned as she felt. Rose was never one to shut herself away. Even during revision for her OWLS and NEWTS, she never completely isolated herself. She was quieter than most of the Weasley's, but never so quiet as to go into hibernation.

'What? Why me?' Ron asked 'Don't you want to?'

' _Please_.' Hermione replied 'We've said it for years, and you can't deny it. She's always been closer to you than me. It was always you that she went to when she needed to talk, you were her first pick. And you welcomed that, you loved that. You always have.'

'You're right. And if she doesn't open the door?'

'She'll open the door.' Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed it before beginning to chop an assortment of vegetables. It would forever puzzle him why, despite being a witch, Hermione Granger continued to do things 'the muggle way.' Then again, he could never really complain, as in their 24 years of marriage, he had begun to do the same. 'Believe it or not, she'll always talk to you.'

Ron had never really considered it like that. He'd noticed it throughout the years, and in a way, twenty one years in, Rose was more of a best friend than a daughter. In many respects, it had been like that for years. Heading to the door, he knocked and after a couple of seconds, with a muttered ' _alohomora_ ,' it swung open.

Rose was revealed leant against the wall and her scarlet hair only lightly brushed to avoid the beginning of tangles. Her knees were pressed up against her chest, and face was pale and tired.

'Drive?' He asked

She sighed, pulling herself up off the bed. 'Drive.'

Following him down the stairs, she headed towards the car, instinctively heading towards the driver's seat. She'd learnt to drive six months ago and since had been using a car at every opportunity she could get. Both Hermione and Ron had taught her, but mainly Hermione. Having confunded the muggle driving instructor ten years ago during his test, a part of Hermione was always weary that he'd influenced one of their children to do the same.

'Oh no you don't.' Ron emerged from the house, gesturing to the passenger seat. 'Not after last night.'

Sighing Rose pulled on her seatbelt as Ron backed out of the driveway and through the streets of Reading.

XXXXXXXXXX

The cold September air of the evening had arrived as Ron parked the car by a lake. They'd brought the children here a lot when they were younger. And it had become a tradition of Ron and Rose's over time. When they needed to talk, they'd go for a drive, talk things through, and come here. Wind blew through Rose's hair as she sat down on one of the benches by the water. Her hands were shaking slightly as she pushed a stray strand behind an ear.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Ron asked looking out at the seagulls flying over the water. No wonder they'd brought Rose and Hugo here so much, it was so calming amongst the chaos of living near London.

Rose shook her head. 'No.'

'What happened Rose? You come in drunk after staying a few days with Al and Scorpius, and then you shut yourself down. You barely drink as it starts with. This isn't you, it's like a light has gone off in your head. What happened?' Silence hung over them like all the words had blurred from the world.

'I was pregnant.' Rose finally said with a voice little more than a whisper. Ron felt the colour drain from his face as he turned is face to look at her. The words felt like a kick in the stomach. Looking closely, he could see tears on his daughter's cheeks and swimming in her eyes. Of all the things she could have said in that moment, that was the last thing he had expected.

' _Rosie_ -'

'And I lost the baby.' Rose croaked, trying to cover her mouth to stop her crying from growing into something louder.

'Oh, Rosie.' Ron whispered, holding her tightly as the tears became more. Leaning into him, her frame shook, heaving with sobs. The birds continued to fly around overhead, some landing on the water nearer to them, as if joining in her sadness. 'It's okay. It's okay...' He trailed off, trying to provide some comfort to her, but as he said the words, even he knew that it wasn't okay. Okay was far from whatever this was. The crying lessened and Ron continued to hold her has she leaned against his side.

'When was this?'

'Last week. Tuesday.'

'What happened, sweetheart?'

'We found out a couple of months ago, and everything was fine, it wasn't perfect, but it we were happy. We were excited.' She sighed, wiping a few stray tears, and properly sitting back up. Rose could see Ron looking at her with eyes that had been drained of their spark. They were dull, but caring, as if in this revelation the world had dimmed. 'It wasn't ideal, and the timing was wrong, but we could make it work. And I went to St Mungo's for an appointment after finding out and everything seemed great, like nothing was wrong. Then Tuesday came around. Al had gone out the night before and said he wouldn't be back, so it was just me and Scorpius. In the past few weeks I've had bad sleep, but this time I woke up and it was different. I've never felt pain like it and, everywhere, there was so much blood. Scorpius woke, and we got to St Mungo's. They just told it as it was...that they were gone...'

'Why didn't you say anything?' Ron asked gently, squeezing her hand as she spoke.

'We were at 11 weeks. They always say not to say anything until 12, just in case. We were going to tell you at dinner on Thursday.' Rose replied, struggling to look towards her father in this moment. It felt like something that had been so heavy on her shoulders had been slightly eased, but at the same time, she was exposed. She'd revealed something that had been so private and secretive for so long, but was gradually making her crack.

'Does Al know?'

Rose took in a shaky breath. 'No, but he probably knows by now. When we returned home from the hospital, he was back, but we didn't really say much. Scor will have said something I imagine. When we were at the hospital, he cried as much as I did, he looked like someone had ripped out is heart. We talked a little, but there's only so much talking we could do before I just couldn't stay there any longer. I told him I was coming home, and he didn't stop me, he probably knew I needed the space.'

'We would have been thrilled for you both, you know.' Ron said a small smile appearing, and Rose teared up a little more 'We would have spoilt them rotten. And I hope you never thought that we'd be mad at you because of it... because I promise you, that wouldn't have ever been the case. And it never will be.'

'It was an accident. 21 seemed a little early to be a parent. I was madder at myself than thinking you or mum would be cross. We weren't ready, but the longer it went on, the more exciting it became. It was just nice to feel that even if you hadn't planned life to go like that, that something good could come out of it all.' Ron thought back to something Hermione had said after they'd found out Hugo was the last child they would have. ' _I know we'd decided that two was enough. But it was nice to think that if ever we changed our minds, the possibility was still there.'_ This, all of this, felt strangely similar. Almost like the events of 19 years ago were crawling back around again. It hurt to see a pain similar to that they had once felt come full circle and be felt again by their own child.

'I'm so sorry Rose. It will happen for you and Scor, and maybe that'll be the right moment. It _will_ happen.' Ron smiled, not out of happiness, but in attempt to comfort his daughter. She wouldn't grin, she wouldn't laugh, he knew that, but for now the small dimples that grew when a small smile appeared on her face would be enough for him.

'Thanks, Dad. Mum will be wondering where we are.' Rose said after a few minutes as she headed back towards the car, Ron following after her. They were quiet in the car as they rolled along the roads, back in the light of the streetlamps. Every so often, Ron glanced over to see if Rose was still awake, but she just sat, eyes staring into the world outside the vehicle, head pressed against the glass. She looked drained, diluted of any excitement that would have existed, did fate not go this way.

Heading into the house, Ron gave Rose a look of reassurance as she went and curled up on the sofa and closed her eyes, as if wanting to reclaim the sleep that had eluded her last night.

'Hey,' Hermione said, popping her head out of the kitchen door, glancing to Ron and then to Rose, who was now asleep. 'Dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes.' She raised her eyebrows to Ron, as if expecting him to tell her what was going on.

'In here,' Ron muttered, guiding Hermione by the arm back into the kitchen and closing the door behind them.

'Well-'

'She had a miscarriage.' He began, seeing Hermione's hand go to her mouth. 'Last week. Do you remember that conversation we had with the healer all those years ago? We need to tell Rose. _You_ need to tell her.' Hermione nodded, reaching for Ron' hand and squeezing it.

 **Author's Note – Hi, so I think this is the darkest chapter I've ever written. It's** _ **really**_ **dark, but there's a part of me that believes this the path for Rose and Scorpius, if Rose and Scorpius ever really become a thing. I don't know if many people will agree with my choice to write this as part of Rose's journey, but this is what I've been working on since Red Rose, and ties into part of the plot of that story [which you might have caught onto if you have read that.] This is a reupload, as there were some things I was unhappy with in the first publication. I know Ron doesn't speak much here, but I think that's needed in such a situation.**


	7. Lost in Translation

Chapter 7: Lost in Translation

Prompt #24: Notes

 **Author's Note – This is very** _ **'stream of conscious-y'**_ **and perhaps a new direction in my writing, but since starting, loving, and finishing The Tales of Beedle the Bard today, I** _ **knew**_ **I had to write something about Hermione's translating and publishing of it.**

 _Early December 2007_

She begins the translation when she's pregnant with Hugo.

It would have been sooner, but she needed the space, the time, to at least try and heal. The contents of the gift in Albus Dumbledore's Will were symbolic of death, of knowledge, and a time when she, Ron, and Harry didn't know if they would survive until the next day. She remembers sitting in the Forest of the Dean, the winter air harsh and chilled in spite of the many warming charms they had placed around the tent. Hour after hour, day after day, she would spend leafing through the pages in the hope that maybe there would be something lurking within the runes that could potentially save them.

Month after month, year after year, she would spend questioning why Dumbledore had given her anything at all in his last testament. Other than being _Harry's best friend_ , _Harry's sister by everything but blood_ , she was just another student. They had had very few interactions, so it didn't make sense. To her, it would never make sense...

For a long time, The Tales of Beedle the Bard had lay on the top shelf of their wardrobe, gathering dust, gathering age, whilst she gathered distance from the war. That was a book that no matter its small size, and innocent intentions – to tell children fairytales, would always hold dark memories. Knowing that the Deathly Hallows were real, and so perhaps everything else in this book could be real too, made it all far less innocent and pure than the alternative.

Then the day came when Rose was nearly a toddler, and she knew that these stories could not be hidden from her forever. These were the stories that all magical children knew, and therefore she was entitled to as well.

 _July 2007_

 _The 18 month old lay in her arms, being gently rocked asleep in the July hazy light, a story would be perfect right now. Instead of the typical muggle stories she and Ron had decided to tell Rosie, she finally uttered the opening words to one of the stories that had been locked away for so long. "High on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the Fountain of Fair Fortune."_

' _Hey,' Ron whispered, entering Rose's bedroom, and gently lifting their now sleeping daughter from Hermione's arms and into her cot. Hearing the final words of the old story from where he had been in the upstairs hallway had left him in a position where he couldn't_ not _listen. 'Did I hear The Fountain of Fair Fortune?'_

' _Yes...' She replied getting up and joining him in watching Rose sleep. 'I think it's time... I need to let go of whatever I hold against that book. It's always going to be hard to read, hard to look through, hard to talk about... the hallows. But she's going to find out about the stories anyway, and we can't hide everything, the past, forever. Ron?'_

' _Yeah?'_

' _I think I need to translate the runes. I don't know what Dumbledore wanted me to do with the book other than discover the hallows. I don't think I'll ever be sure why he gave it to me, but I think I need to do this. He probably knew from Harry that I loved books, maybe this is something else that I'm supposed to do.' She croaked, reaching forward to stroke Rose's cheek_

' _If that's what you need to do, want to do, then that's what you'll do. You're right, about the stories, she's going to hear them, whether we tell them or not. If that makes you happy, then I'm all for it. Do you think that will help you let go of you're holding against the book?' Ron questioned_

' _Maybe... I think I'll ask McGonagall for her permission. You know, once the new school year has commenced.'_

 _1_ _st_ _October 2007_

' _So Hermione... to what do I owe the pleasure?' Minerva McGonagall said, a small, yet undeniably 'McGonagall' smile playing on her lips._

 _The Headmaster/mistress' Office hadn't changed in the nine years since the war, expect for the added portrait of Severus Snape next to Dumbledore's. In spite of the chaos that probably was felt throughout the rest of the castle, McGonagall had clearly made this a place of her own, placidity and calm, decorated with Gryffindor-esque designs_

' _As you're aware, Professor, Professor Dumbledore bequeathed me his copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in his Will. I've never been entirely certain as to why he gave me the book, but recently, I think I worked out the meaning. I believe that perhaps one of the reasons for me receiving this was to translate the book from its original runes.'_

' _I see.' The elderly professor nodded_

' _If possible, given that you now hold the position that Dumbledore once did, I'd like to ask for your permission in doing this, please.'_

' _Of course, dear, and please, call me Minerva.' McGonagall's warm smile spread, 'But, if you are to do this, there's something that might help you in this task.' She stood and pulled open one of the draws at the oak desk. After a brief rummage, McGonagall withdrew a stack of flat parchment, neatly bound together by a Gryffindor-red ribbon. 'Ah, here they are. I remember Albus once showing these to me many years ago. Following on from the War, I received a copy of Dumbledore's Will, but with an added addition that won't have been on the one that Rufus Scrimegeour presented to you, Potter, and Mr Weasley. He left a side note requesting that should you ever the need, that you may borrow his notes on the book. Typical Albus, they're all in Runes, but if you intend to publish the translation, I reckon these would be a great feature.'_

' _Thank you, so much. I truly appreciate it.' Hermione said, gathering the ribbon enveloped notes in her arms. 'I'll have them back soon, I promise.'_

' _Take all the time you need. Besides, you'll have a lot of time once you go on leave.' McGonagall replied, gesturing towards Hermione's middle, 'Congratulations, to you and Ron by the way. When are they due?'_

' _February, providing they arrive on time.' Her voice lifted towards the end, despite the anxiety that the baby could arrive early, like Rose had nearly 2 years ago._

' _Well, I'm sure Rose will be very happy to have a little brother or sister. And Hermione? Like with your husband's deluminator, there could be many_ many _reasons for your receiving of the book. Albus always was an enigma...'_

Early December 2007

'Albus always an enigma,' McGonagall had said two months ago back in the head's office. To her, another Gryffindor student, yes. But to McGonagall? It was no secret that a lot of mysteries surrounded Dumbledore's life, but she had imagined that to his closest acquaintances, like McGonagall, or Elphias Doge, or many of the Hogwarts professors he would have diffused the mist a little. She would have thought that he would have given clearer explanations to the three teenagers he left items to in his Will.

She had reached the final tale in the runic text – The Tale of the Three Brothers, and the publisher's had agreed that once she had revised the completed book translation the work would go straight into printing ahead of its release next June. June seemed like such a long way away, but with the new baby and revisions of Beedle the Bard, the time would go quickly. Allowing her eyes to wander over the last page of Dumbledore's notes, her eyes latched on to certain lines... _"The moral of "The Tale of the Three Brothers" could not become any clearer: human efforts to evade or overcome death are always doomed to disappointment."_ It felt like such a Dumbledore thing to say, and yet now knowing what she, Ron and Harry did, the words made her shiver.

 _"This legend holds that the gifts Death gives the birthed - are genuine objects that exist in the world,'_ was the line that struck her the most. There had been times, since that August 1st of 1997, when she craved a rant at the now deceased headmaster. These notes were written in the 18 months leading up to his death. He'd given Harry back his invisibility cloak. He was in possession of the Elder wand. In 1996, he'd obtained the resurrection stone, as found in the ring. He _knew_. He knew in that time and he couldn't have told Harry. He couldn't have made it easier for them to obtain the horcruxes. He couldn't have given them any more clues.

No matter the fact that the Deluminator had brought Ron back to them, giving them this life, she would still never forgive the man for what he put 3 17 year olds through. In spite of the fact that with what had happened, they had their beautiful Rose, and they had their little son, who was currently kicking her impatiently, that year would have been so much easier without such mystery and secretiveness.

 _"Clever as I am, I remain just as big a fool as anyone else."_ Yes, she thought, you were a fool. There were perhaps many reasons for Albus Dumbledore giving this book to her; some she knew, and some she didn't. Some things would be forever lost in translation. But for now, she was grateful for the answers she had, and what she was able to have, now that the war was over.

Another kick brought the 28 year old out of her thoughts, and with a shake of the head to herself, Hermione Granger translated the final line of the story.

 _"And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him glad, and equals, they departed this life."_

 **Author's Note – Hey, I'm not too sure how I feel about this chapter, but it's something that since reading Beedle the Bard, has been on my mind. I reckon that Hermione would have questioned her gift a lot following on from the war, as like Ron, she never really knew Dumbledore. To me, it's an incredibly odd relationship that she would have pondered for many years, given how much Dumbledore knew and didn't tell Harry.**


	8. The Heart of a King

**Chapter 8 – The Heart of a King**

 **Prompt #85 – Affair**

 _June 2024_

'Ron?'

'Yep?'

'I'm having an affair.'

'WHAT?' He almost yells.

At first he believes her. He never believes that she'd do it, because he knows that when they've talked about it, they've realised that they're so wrapped up in each other, their children, their future, and their history that they never could be with anyone else. They shared too much even comprehend what it would be like to _be_ with someone else.

Just because they've talked about it, it doesn't mean Ron Weasley is any less horrified but the words his wife just uttered with such confidence. The steam of his coffee evaporates as he finally looks up at Hermione, blue locking with brown over the kitchen table.

'Yes. That's what the Prophet says. Fantastic article.'

Any palpitations that he'll later deny he ever had calmed and the King's heart returned to a steady, lento beat. The glint in Hermione, _his_ Hermione's eye allowed warmth to spread across his chest as the corner of her mouth turned into a smile. She could still do that to him twenty three years into their marriage; ' _then again'_ , he thought _'it is Hermione.'_

'Must be true then. This is one of those times when I'm glad you've got a subscription to that newspaper. Who are you doing it with this time? Come out with it then.' Ron exhaled putting his coffee down with some force. The clunk of the pot mug hitting the pine table made both he and Hermione jump, but it was disregarded quickly. This has happened before. The first time it was Roger Davies, simply because they had _one_ conversation in the Ministry. Then it was Percy, which both of them had a laugh at. Of course, this had been scattered with frequent flings with Harry Potter. None of the one's with Harry had ever been believed; since the conversation between he and Ron in the Forest of Dean many years ago, any paranoia Ron Weasley had had about his wife and their mutual best friend had been put to rest.

'Dean, apparently.'

'Poor Katie. Is that why you're going to miss Hugo's NEWT's meeting next week, and I'm going alone.' Deciding to play along, he thought he'd dig right in, and bring in Hugo's education. He knew that as much as it pained her to be missing something so important, there'd be even more important dates at Hogwarts to attend, and sadly, on this occasion her meeting couldn't move dates.

'Indeed.'

'And not because you have a meeting regarding making political allegiances and multi-national house elf laws in Europe with the deputy head of Sweden's Law Enforcement Department.' He added

'True.' Hermione conceded without hesitation

'Flitwick will be so disappointed. And McGonagall will be appalled, of course. What is it with Weasley's and Dean Thomas? First my little sister, and now my wife.' Ron sighed with a look of betrayal. A sharp crinkle interrupted his monologue as Hermione folded the Daily Prophet and placed it on the table.

'One – Ginny is a Potter-'

'-who's also technically a Weasley, as are all their sprogs-' He interrupted, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

'- And you know she was only dating him because Harry was unavailable. Two – I'm Granger.'

'But technically also a Weasley. Our children are Weasley-'

'-Granger-Weasley.' She said pointedly, raising an eyebrow '18 years in and you're getting our children's names wrong.'

'Granger-Weasley's. And you've always let the kid's teachers and friends call you 'Mrs Weasley,'

'It's only because children are so nervous and formal when they meet their friend's parents. Besides, after they called us 'Mr and Mrs' we insisted on Ron and Hermione. Besides, 'Mrs Weasley' sounds like your Mum. She's great but _I'm not your Mum._ '

'True. True.'

'Thirdly, I'd _never_ be attracted to Dean. I don't know what Ginny saw in him.' A visible shiver for dramatic effect made the husband chuckle under his breath.

'Really? What are you attracted to then?' Ron smirked; resting his head on her should as he approached from around the table.

'Hmm... ginger, lanky, youngest son. Lover of the Chudley Cannons and chocolate frogs. _Excellent_ dad and Quidditch player _without_ Felix Felicis; _impressive_ hugger. The heart of a lion, maybe even the heart of a king. They don't have to be a war hero, but that's a rather attractive bonus I find.'

'That's the quite the type, my Queen.' He murmured, kissing her cheek.

Hermione turned in her seat as a natural response, reaching up to stroke her husband's cheek. They were 44 now, and whilst they had a 'few' more wrinkles, and they'd both lost the slight shapes that they once had; going from thin to a little past slim and curvy on her part and from thin to 'the food finally catching up with you, Ronald' on his part; when she looked at Ron she still saw the nervous but passionate 17 year old she'd been in love with, and continued to be in love with to this day. Not that he'd gone anywhere. He was still just as juvenile at times. But he was also just as brave, just as funny, just as loving, and just as fiercely protective too. 'You're my type, you'll _always_ be my type.'

'And you mine.'

 **Author's Note – This was inspired by a piece of fan art I recently saw on Pinterest. I go back and forth on how I feel about 'Granger-Weasley.' For years, it was set in my head that the children would be just Weasley, because Rowling never denied that. I also always thought that Hermione would go for Weasley, but being very, perhaps** _ **too**_ **similar to Hermione, I understand why she kept Granger. Still rather iffy on Rose and Hugo's surnames, as someone who has a double barrel surname themselves, but best start implementing it I guess. Oh, and in my Head-cannon, Dean Thomas and Katie Bell end up together, as you may have noticed here.**


	9. When the Memories Fade

**Chapter 9 – When the Memories Fade**

 **Prompt #22 – Forbidden**

 _July 1997_

He had sat waiting, and waiting and waiting. In her last letter, her word had been that she would be arriving tonight. Then it would be nearly two days before they went and rescued Harry from Privet Drive. Whilst her letters were usually filled with wit, factuality and Hermione-ness, in her recent ones, her words had been tense, insecure, and fragile. It wasn't perhaps in the words she'd written, but _how_ she'd written them. Ron could feel it.

She'd written to the Burrow a few days ago, not addressed to anyone specifically, but he presumed it to be aimed at himself, Ginny, Molly, Arthur, and the Order the most. As clear as any plotting she ever conducted was, her words carved into parchment declared that she was moving her parents to safety and out of harm's way for the time being, and that they had agreed to her doing this to them. Everyone had seemed understanding enough, but all he could think of was that knowing Hermione, there was _so_ much more to this story between the lines.

Members of the Order had come and gone; Kingsley had returned to the Prime Minister, Lupin and Tonks had headed to Ted and Andromeda's house, and Mad-Eye had muttered something about 'Grimmauld Place' and 'Constant Vigilance.' Several Weasley's were scattered throughout the Burrow, and while they all anticipated her arrival, it was Ron who remained focused on the door. Aside from Ron now, everyone had gone to bed. Ginny had popped her head in and out of the living room a few times anxiously, whilst preparing the spare bed in her bedroom for their guest. The tea his mother had made was now ice cold, and all Ron could do was draw his eyes towards the tea leaves swirling in the chilled brown liquid. Any other day, any other situation, the tea would have been gone _long gone_ before it grew cold. For now at least, however, he couldn't do anything until he knew that she was here and that she was safe.

When he finally heard the crack outside, the sky had been brushed by watercolours. Red was bleeding into orange into pink. And Hermione was stood, clutching a rucksack and a beaded bag. Face paler than usual, Ron's heart plummeted as he noticed the tears in her eyes. 'Hermione.'

And then she was looking directly into his eyes.

And the tears were falling.

And he wrapped his arms around her tightly as her faced crumpled into sobs.

They remained joined for, to Ron, seemed like an eternity, but probably on lasted a few minutes. Shakes seem to rack her smaller frame in the cold moonlight. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her tighter. He could kiss her. He could kiss her right now and assure her that everything was going to be okay with that one action, but now wasn't the moment. No matter how much Ron Weasley wanted to kiss Hermione Granger, he suppressed the urge and instead platonically held the girl who he longed to be more than a best friend.

Cries subsided, and Hermione stepped slightly away, wiping under both eyes with her right thumb. It was another small thing Ron had picked up on over the years, on the far too many occasions that he or Harry or he and Harry had made her cry. Both sweet and endearing. Whilst he looked at her, she looked behind him and towards the Burrow, where a family existed that she for now at least didn't possess anymore. Once again, instinct overpowered Ron and an arm snaked around Hermione's frame. 'Come on,' he whispered, 'let's go upstairs.'

It wasn't until they arrived in his attic bedroom and they had sat on the floor opposite one another, that he realised that he'd just essentially taken a girl, _the_ girl, up to his room. Nothing was going to happen; he knew that, but even the fact that that he had taken her up here to talk instead of the gardens or the living room overwhelmed his being. Upon arrival, he had passed her the day's Daily Prophet, understanding her craving for updates and news when she had cut off her subscription to the newspaper for the time being. Her eyes quickly skimmed over the front page before a tear fell once again.

'Hermione,' Ron murmured, but when there was no answer and she remained in her trance, a cool hand rested upon hers and he repeated it, finally getting her to look up. 'Hermione? What happened? Did you do it?'

'They've moved. Mum and Dad are safe.' Relief washed over Ron, despite her restless demeanour.

'Where?' It had been a question that had been plaguing his mind for days, feasting on any other thoughts and concerns. He knew her, he knew she'd think outside of the box, and by no means where they safe in England.

'Australia.' She croaked, her eyes welling up once again.

'And they agreed to that?' Ron exclaimed 'They agreed to moving to the other side of the world and leaving their only child here?'

The look on her face changed once again, from sadness, to a hard, cold glare. Not cast at him, or at anyone, but towards the vine wand that lay on the floor beside her, a fair distance between them. 'They didn't agree to anything. They didn't agree to moving. I-I- made them. With magic.'

Shock made his blood run cold at the thought of how Hermione had manipulated her parents against their own will, something that at any other time, she'd be so against. All along it had been so clear that there was more to the story than what first read on parchment, but this was something more entirely. Instead of saying anything, he simply came and sat beside her, and let her continue.

'Mum and Dad never would have agreed to moving. They would have wanted to stay in the country for as long as possible. But I couldn't bring myself to tell them about what had happened. All they were aware of was that Dumbledore is dead, and things are bad in our world. There are parts that they have known for years, too much about Harry though for them to ever be safe. I couldn't leave them- and do, what we're about to do, knowing that they'd be tortured or interrogated or killed, because of me.' She sniffed, and Ron squeezed her hand.

'Go on.'

'The best bet was to move them as far away as possible, where hopefully they won't be found. A few days ago, I saw them watching a housing programme about Australia. Dad spoke about it with such excitement and enthusiasm. Mum told me that a while ago that they have always wanted to go on holiday there, but money has been tight so it never happened. I looked up an area and made enquiries, found them a house. Then all I had to do was do the spell, and I did. So I wiped their memories, of me, of you, of Harry and anything to do with magic. Robert and Elizabeth Granger are now Wendell and Monica Wilkins, a childless couple whose life ambition was to move to Australia. And they did.'

Ron took all the information in, stunned by the lengths she had gone to do this. But there was one thing, one word that wasn't sitting right with him, her unsettled manner has she spat out the word told him that once again, something wasn't fully revealed. 'What spell?'

'The Oblivator Charm.' She quickly replied, fumbling with the tissue in her hand, folding its pieces into a neat rectangle, square, triangle; smaller and smaller by the second.

'That spell's forbidden. It's illegal. What were you thinking?' Ron said turning to look directly at her.

'God Ron, you're starting to sound like me. Desperate times call for desperate measures. This was the best I could think to do whilst keeping them alive.' Hermione breathed, tears flowing down her face not for the first time this night. 'I'd rather face the consequences, when it comes to it, than have them suffer.' She was right, because as these words escaped her lips, Ron couldn't deny that if it came to it, he'd do the same to protect his parents, siblings, and Hermione.

'You did the right thing, and it was...so brave.' Ron's voice cracked, attempting to reassure her, as once again she broke down in tears.

'Sorry...' She exhaled, and Ron once again, put an arm around her frame.

'It's okay. It's going to be okay, and when all this is over and you lift the charm and get them back, and tell them everything, they're going to be so proud of you.'

'You- you really think we're going to survive this?' Hermione asked, shaking her head as she looked up at him, searching his eyes for answers.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. 'I don't know what I believe anymore. But we need to have a little faith.' When silence all but fell, aside from Hermione's erratic breathing, the distant creek of crickets in the long grass of the meadow and water of a nearby stream trickling could be faintly heard. It was hard to believe that amidst such chaos in their world, everything outside of the rickety house could carry on like normal, in such peace. The Burrow outside of the silencing charm he'd placed on his bedroom would all be fast asleep by this time, and to open this door with Hermione in her state, undoubtedly facing the wrath of a sleepy Ginny, and then everyone else in tow, seemed illogical. This was something she wanted to keep private, and her leaving in tears would break her wishes. For the moment, wanting her to stay in the room wasn't just because he wanted her close to him, but because he was worried about the weeping girl currently trying to calm herself. 'Do you want to stay in here tonight?' He whispered

'Are you sure?' Hermione stumbled, struggling to regulate her breath, 'You're mum wouldn't be pleased with that.'

'Neither will Ginny if you wake her up. Everyone will wake up and want to talk, and to be honest, you look like that's the last thing you want to do right now. I already set up Harry's bed yesterday.' Ron suggested, standing up, and offering her a hand from her position on the floor. Hermione nodded in agreement, once again beside words. Everything blurred after that, movements slurring and words rushing by; Ron left the room so that they could both get changed into pyjamas; both climbed into their beds, and with a flick of his wand, the light switched off. Silence of the outside world once again overpowered as Ron wondered if Hermione had fallen asleep quickly. They'd never slept in the same room before, aside from in the Great Hall in third year. Unspoken worries floated in his mind, _what if he spoke about her in his sleep; what if he started sleepwalking; what if she started talking about Krum in_ her _sleep; what if_ he _started talking about Krum – his former idol, in his sleep._

Ron was seconds away from drifting into unconsciousness when a voice broke the frosted air between him and his best friend. 'Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'Thanks.' Her voice seemed more controlled now, as if the oncoming presence of sleep was lulling her into a state of tranquillity.

'Anytime.' He replied, hoping that maybe, just maybe if they survived all this, one day there would be many times ahead.

 **Author's Note – Okay so this isn't Post-Hogwarts like Until the End is categorised, but I had the urge to write this, and so I did.**


	10. Analogue

Chapter 10 – Analogue

Prompt #2 - Clock

 _September 2000_

 _Home, Work, School, Hospital, Travelling, Lost, Prison, Mortal Peril..._

The Weasley clock had always fascinated Hermione; from its peculiar labelling to the unflattering photos on each person's name. She recalled first seeing these hands ahead of the Quidditch World cup in her fourth year. The adolescent faces of Ron and Ginny had been quite the sight – a sight at which Hermione had had great restraint to refrain from laughing aloud. One of the most fascinating things she had witnessed was how the photos aged alongside their physical counterparts. Ginny's had gone from petite and nervous looking to quietly fierce and bold. Ron's had gone from the lanky fourteen year old he had been when she had come across the clock, to still lanky, but also the matured, brave man that she was in love with.

Fred Weasley's had stopped ageing.

Whilst the change would be barely noticeable at this point 2 years on from the war, it would become increasingly significant as the years went on. People would go from teenagers to fully fledged adults, to middle aged employees. But he would stay young and smiling. This was why, 4 months after the war, Molly and George mutually agreed that it was easier to take the hand down from the magical clock. Now, it lay, polished amongst dust, on top of the Burrow's living room mantle piece.

Everything about this clock was so wonderfully different from the simple, analogue clocks that they had in the muggle world. Hermione smiled at the memory of her father explaining to Arthur Weasley how they worked, and how the digital ones that were becoming popular worked too. Her father, like herself, was also entranced by the clock and listened with the sharp curiosity she had inherited as Arthur and Molly explained how they had created it. She couldn't deny that, out of the many wonders that could be found in the Burrow, this was the one she loved the most.

'Hermione, would you mind coming into the living room? I want to show you something.' Mrs Weasley asked Hermione, putting a hand on the shoulder of the girl sat in the long grass of the garden talking to Fleur and baby Victoire as many of a whirl of redheads played 3-a-side Quidditch. With a nod, Hermione followed the now slightly greying older woman into the epicentre of the house.

It wasn't hard to notice Ron and Harry already sat in the room, smirking as they watched on. She raised an eyebrow in passing, aware that they knew something she didn't, and the two resumed their smirking.

Mrs Weasley was currently sorting through the draw of a bureau pushed against the wall between the kitchen and the living room. The curiosity Hermione felt was immense, and with great strength she refrained from walking over and asking what was going on.

Molly finally turned around, something wrapped between her wrinkling, ageing hands. Her look was one of happiness, sparkled with the tears yet to fall that shined in her eyes.

'Arthur and I wanted to give you this.' She said, unravelling her folded palms and presenting the object to Hermione. The younger woman couldn't conceal her gasp.

Long and silver, the clock hand glistened in Hermione's eye line; early Autumn's evening light bouncing off the metallic material. At the top lay a moving photograph of her as she was now, 2 years on from the battle. Young. Not so thin anymore. Smiling. Hair, a wild mane as ever, and brown eyes alight. She imagined that she was probably thinking about Ron at the time it was taken. As she got older, would she still have that same look? Would she still have that look that came with being so ridiculously in love with Ron Weasley? _Probably._ She thought to herself. Aside from the photograph, the most striking thing she noticed as the intricate, carefully construction of her name. _Hermione_. In swirling letters, just like the Weasley's own ones.

'Mrs Weasley – Molly, I-' Hermione stumbled

'We had it made a while ago, and it just arrived a couple of days ago. We've wanted to give you something like this for a long time, but now felt like the right moment. Because the truth is that you've been a member of this family for many years now, and with that- Well. With that comes a hand on the clock.'

'I don't know what to say...' Hermione whispered, her voice catching as she uttered the words.

'You're family Hermione. You've been like another daughter to us for years. Even though things haven't always been perfect, mainly on my part...' Mrs Weasley admitted, smiling with regret, 'We love you, and we have for a long time. Like Harry with Ginny, whether you were with Ron or not, you would still be a member of this family, and always will be. We've all been through too much together not to be.' Both turned and looked over to where Harry and Ron were now pretending like they hadn't been listening in and watching, but smiled knowingly.

'And now you're engaged and getting married soon. And whether you take Weasley or remain Granger, you'll be an _official_ Weasley.' Molly added.

Hermione was left speechless. The wedding was of course the official point of her and Ron becoming each others' family, but this felt in many ways equally significant. She and Mrs Weasley had had their ups and downs, particularly in her fourth year, and she had always gotten along with Mr Weasley, with whom she frequently discussed muggles and muggle objects and technology. To her, whilst this was from both Arthur and Molly, it felt like Molly's completion of acceptance, and that meant more than she could surmount in plain English.

So instead she flung her arms around Molly, in the hope that a hug could make up for the words she couldn't string together.

'Thank you.' She croaked and felt Molly's arms hug her back tightly. After a few moments, the two separated and Molly lifted the clock hand again, heading over to the clock where it was meant to belong. As the elder Weasley headed over, she felt a younger Weasley and the famous Potter come and stand by her side.

'Wonder how she'll react when you tell her you're keeping Granger.' Harry murmured, smirking

'Shut up, Harry.' Hermione whispered, laughing in the quiet. As Molly slid the hand onto the clock and smiled back at them before heading off to check on the potatoes, Hermione felt Ron's arms wrap around her from behind. Her engagement ring pressed into his hand, reminding her that this was real; so wonderfully real.

'Did you know?' Hermione asked Ron, turning in his arms to give a quick kiss before Harry cleared is throat and they broke away slightly.

'Maybe.' Ron smiled, 'It's perfect isn't it?'

Hermione watched the newly placed hand move by magic of its own accord to sit next to Ron's resting on the word 'Home.'

'Yes.' She beamed, 'It is.'

 **Author's Note – 27/7/2016 This is probably going to be my last update of Until the End until after Harry Potter and the Cursed Child has been released this Sunday. So, good luck and I hope everyone loves it and that what we get gives us a little more conclusion. Remember to #KeeptheSecrets.**


	11. Exhale

**Chapter 10: Exhale**

 **Prompt #50: Broken Glass**

 _July 2022_

She'd always been the nervous one. The quiet one. Shy.

It had never been an issue when it came to participating at school; whether that be her Muggle primary or Hogwarts. Neither of her parents could deny that sometimes she was too like Hermione for her own good; raising her hand so much that others didn't get a chance, or being a fountain of knowledge that no Hogwarts subject could suppress. Well, except for Divination. Her confidence wasn't high, but she could be distracted from that when she had the answer and nobody else did, or when she was so passionate about a subject she could lose sense of any initial fear.

Socially, there weren't very many issues either. Rose struggled to make friends, and to enter conversations with new or unfamiliar people, but once she had taken the first steps everything became that little bit easier. Now, at 16, she had a few friends that weren't her best friend, Albus Potter. These were people that since her quietest days in first year, she had gradually grown closer and closer to. She still stumbled outside of these people, and the circles of her family, but it was better than the times when she had been too shy to even attempt to make friends.

Rose's anxiety could come from anything; and it was always unexpected and from the unexpected. It lurked in dark corners where she wouldn't have thought to look before – reaching out and grabbing her, before there was any chance to push it away.

As seen today, in her first panic attack.

The flickering feeling had never reached this point before; where she was the light bulb that knew she was about to blow a fuse. For the most part, it either wouldn't be there, or would completely overwhelm her being. Now, it had gone further than the point where she could normally conceal the feeling and keep it a secret from those around her. And it had happened today as they were heading to Shell Cottage with the rest of the family. The racing heart and consuming thoughts of dread had flooded. Soon enough, as her parents and brother watched one, she was drowning, choking on her own breath. Unable to exhale, never mind anything else.

Her parents had both tried to calm her, whilst Hugo had frozen, watching on in horror from by the fireplace. As the tears fell down her cheeks, a glass had smashed, breaking into hundreds of translucent fragments on the other side of the room. Rose had never intended for that to happen; she was too focused on the fact that the air was suffocating, as oppose to the rest of the room and what was happening. Ron and Hermione had shared a look of concern as they both knelt in front of their daughter knelt on the floor. Wild magic was uncommon now that both Rose and Hugo were being educated at Hogwarts. Nothing like this had happened since before Hugo had left for his first year nearly 3 years ago, Rose on the other hand, hadn't expressed any forms of Wild Magic at home since she was 10.

Everything after that had blurred. Slurred motions of people moving around the living room, sounds echoing and sounding distanced, the occasional flash of light from the fireplace and her parent's wands. Rose Weasley may have been in the middle of it all, but now, having being guided to one of the sofas by her mother, the events of the past half an hour seemed like a far away memory viewed in the pensive.

In the hours since Ron had dropped Hugo off at Shell Cottage, the summer light had darkened significantly. Now having the passed the Summer Equinox, with each day the darkness was coming sooner and sooner. Shadows danced on the ceiling and spread widely across the Weasley's brown carpeted floor. Hugo wouldn't be returning this evening, and instead, as agreed amongst the others at Shell Cottage, would stay with one of his sets of aunts and uncles.

Very few words had been exchanged, but it had been mutually agreed that they would be spending a lot of the night in this room; both Ron and Hermione being too concerned to leave their daughter alone. Hermione sat on the edge on the sofa, next to Rose's now blanket covered and curled frame.

'I don't know what's wrong with me.' Rose croaked, breaking the silence as more tears fell and her body shook quietly.

'It's okay, Rosie,' Hermione murmured, stroking the red hair still vivid in the gloom of a late evening. 'Everything is going to be okay.'

'How can you know that? This hasn't happened before, and I couldn't control it. I couldn't control breaking that glass. I wasn't even thinking about that glass.' Rose exclaimed tearfully, 'All I was doing was trying to breathe.'

'But that feeling has happened before? Of anxiety?' Ron asked softly, from where he was sat in an armchair next to them; elbows resting on knees.

'It happens all the time, and I-I don't know what over, but _never_ that bad before.' Rose replied '

'It's still there though, sweetheart.' Ron said, 'It's still something that you're struggling with and isn't going away. It has to be something that a doctor or a healer can help with.' The fact that they were dealing with it instead of adopting ignorance was already making things slightly easier in this moment. Her parents had always known she was unnecessarily nervous and anxious, but they would never have attached or considered attaching 'Anxiety' to Rose until now. Of course, it was something that hadn't gone unnoticed, but this only reignited their past thoughts on having Rose medically consulted.

'Your Dad's right,' Hermione added, 'We need to get to the bottom of this, or you're going to get worse; as seen today. We'll make an appointment first thing tomorrow, and we'll come with you when the time comes.'

A flash of green lit up the living room, startling Ron out of his seat and impulsively reaching for his wand. George Weasley stumbled out of the fireplace, red hair still garish and bold at 44. His normally overtly cheerful expression was mellow and diluted, looking between the Weasley, Granger, and Granger-Weasley. 'Sorry about that, weather took at turn in Tinworth. Not as nice to floo or apparate in. You doing okay?' The older Weasley sibling asked, not targeting anyone in particular.

'Been better, but thank you.' Ron nodded, casting a fretful look over to Rose. 'How's Hugo?'

'He's alright, worried, but alright. Angelina has taken him back to ours. Actually, that's what I came about – do you have some clothes I could take over for him? We'd lend him Fred's, but they'd drown him.'

'Sure, come with me, and I'll find some.' Ron said, heading up the stairs. Within a few minutes, two brothers returned, the elder carrying a rucksack of Hugo's clothes.

'Thank you for this George. Are you sure you and Angelina don't mind?' Hermione asked as they re-entered the room.

'Nah, don't worry about it. He's great. Besides it's nice for us to spend time with our Godson. Oh- that reminds me-' George smiled, removing a box from the bag he'd originally brought in. 'Fleur sent some cake over for you three, for whenever you feel like it.'

'Thank you, again George, really.' Ron gave him a small smile, as did Hermione. Rose remained still, staring off somewhere distant as she continued to lie in the same position as earlier next to her mother.

George leant over planting a kiss on his niece's forehead, 'Get well soon, Rosie,' He added with a quiet reassurance to his brother's daughter. Rose drifted out of her trance and gave him an upward curve of her mouth before he disapparated; the room falling into silence once again. Finally getting Rose to eat something [ _'Sugar is good for shock,'_ Ron had suggested,] the cake was eaten slowly in quiet apprehension.

XXXXXXXXXX

Knuckles whitened around the bottle of powdery tablets that Rose now clutched. The healer's office was clean, sterile, and too empty for her liking. She didn't like mess or chaos, but she didn't like minimalism either – the cold setting made this all the more real. Everything had unfolded in the past 90 minutes, but for the better.

' _We'll assess how you get on at regular intervals. Perhaps once a year to see if we need to up or decrease your dosage. For now, take these twice a day, don't take with alcohol. If you get pregnant or develop any other illnesses, conditions etc, then we'll change or take you off the medication. Don't worry though, Rose, this will help.'_ She heard the healer's gentle voice, the questions of her Mum and felt the tensing of her Dad next to her at the word 'pregnant,' but she was removed from it all. In the moment she wasn't there, she was outside of a situation she'd seen herself heading to for years.

'Do you have any questions, Rose?' The healer asked, and Rose broke out of her thoughts.

'No. Thank you.'

Leaving the office, the bustle of the rest of St Mungo's suddenly became apparent after an hour of solitude. Anxiety. She had an Anxiety Disorder.

Hermione's arms wrapped around her daughter, and suddenly Rose was immersed in her embrace – the smell of books, and a perfume that Ron had actually gotten right, unlike his gift in their Hogwarts years. The heart currently pounding in her chest calmed at the hug, and her mother's murmured words. 'It's Anxiety, and we have a way of aiding it. You'll get through this; _we'll_ get you through this.'

It wasn't just worries. It wasn't just nerves. It was Anxiety; and they were going to deal with it.

 **Author's Note: My characterization of Rose might be entirely off, but over the years this is how I came to see Rose Weasley. The portrayal of Anxiety might not suit everyone, but it's partially based of my experiences with having GAD, and how I wish[ed] my family would deal with it. Perhaps it's my way of writing an alternative path to the one I have unfortunately received, but Anxiety is a thing, and I can honestly envisage Rose having it. Also, I've now reread Cursed Child twice and absolutely ADORE it. What did you think?**


	12. Six Hours

**Chapter 12: Six Hours**

 **Prompt #5: Dark Room**

 _November 1999_

He stumbles in through the dark of the hallway, not so smartly tripping over boots, brogues, willies and pumps on his journey to the stairs. The final stumble is when he reaches the umbrella stand, and he can't help but feel a sorrow-filled pang of grief for Tonks. It hasn't been 2 years yet, and everything is still raw and unhealed; not to say that the scars will ever heal completely. Scars are scars. Looking at the stand, he takes a moment to think about how she should still be stumbling over that, four years on from when they first saw her do so. She should be stumbling, and Lupin should be laughing at her clumsiness, and they should both be doting over their son when they come to visit. But they aren't, and whilst Teddy has Andromeda, and he has Harry, _they_ aren't here anymore. He's an orphan. After a few seconds, he has to shake the thoughts out of his head, as the next on the list of the dead to take to the stage will be Fred...

Blackness consumes the hallway of number 12 Grimmauld Place. Night time isn't so young anymore, and the sun set many hours ago. 3AM isn't a friend – it's an enemy who shouldn't be endured but instead slept through. Though he lives here, there's no way that he has the co-ordination and skill to navigate his way through the dark. Instead he mutters a ' _Lumos'_ and proceeds up the staircase.

By now she'll be sleeping. She'll have given up on the muggle paperback _'The Great Gatsby is a classic, Ronald,_ ' after a few hours; because even she knows that there's such thing as one page too many. Harry won't be here tonight. Instead, he's spending the night in a B and B visiting Ginny's raining Welsh island training camp in Holyhead. But he reckons that, as much as he doesn't want to think about it, Ginny will be there with him. A shiver runs down his spine and again, he shakes a loose thought away...

They'd had plans for this evening. Not many, but it wouldn't kill anyone to make the most of Harry's absence and instead, as Hermione had put it 'appreciate the amount of space, the number of floors and rooms where we can be together – just the two of s.' Contrastingly, as Ron had put it 'be wild and have sex somewhere outside of the third floor bedroom we share.'

Now that plan was out of the window, of course. 'Groggy sex isn't fun,' he had so lovingly put to her after everyone had got drunk at Percy and Audrey's wedding 2 months ago and the following morning, exhausted and hung over, they did something that they both still regretted.

Arriving at the entrance to their room, he pushes the door open to find Hermione not asleep, but sat in the chair staring with a fierce gaze at the door through he has just entered. No lamp, no Lumos, just staring, chestnut eyes wide and alive. Ron begins to approach her with the intent of pressing a kiss to her forehead whilst stopping by the pyjama draw, scooping out a cottan acrylic blend t-shirt and plaid bottoms. Ice kissed, her voice is cold as her boyfriend gets closer.

'You should have told me.'

'I know, I'm sorry. There was paperwork to file and a meeting after we returned from the new case. Davidson had me write up a new report following the meeting, because apparently 'It can't wait 'til morning,' He interjects, doing a near perfect impression of his boss' brisk Glaswegian accent. Normally she'd laugh or at least allow a smirk to creep onto her lips at his mimicking, but nothing.

'How long did you know?'

'Pardon?'

'How long did you know you were going to be late for?' He's stepped away, knowing that the next words that come out of his mouth are going to be the ignition she needs. Lying would be a good idea, but he can't. After all they've been through Ron reckons he could never truly lie to her.

'A few hours.'

'A few?'

'Six.'

The air is solid, thick between them as it becomes polluted with the loose thoughts of both sides. Silence rings in his ears. _Here comes the argument..._

'Six hours. You're telling me that in the past six hours, you couldn't have let me know you weren't going to be back at 1, like had so told me this morning.' Her frown is tight, and he can feel agitation beginning to seep into his veins. They don't argue so much anymore. When they do, it's either vicious or resolvable. But they're Ron and Hermione, 'Ron and Hermione,' it's just one of the things they do. 'Always have, always will,' Harry muttered last time he got caught between them in Grimmauld Place's kitchen. That had been a particularly brutal evening in which Harry had gone back and forth as mediator. By the end of the evening, Hermione refused to sleep on the same floor as Ron, and instead curled up on one of the sofas. Like when they were 18, he had thrown a fit trying to persuade her that he'd take the sofa and she could have the bed, but again, she insisted that _she_ would be the one to remain down there that night.

'Don't you think I would have if I could have?' Ron exclaims,

'I don't know – owl, patronus, memo, simply pop your head into the fireplace and call for me. Or apparate. Those were your options, and yet nothing _not a damn thing, Ron_.'

'Again – don't you think I would've if I could?' He feels his voice getting stronger to match her brusque tone.

'Maybe not, you can't have been so fully occupied for all those hours.' Hermione exhales, her breath shaky, 'There will have been moments when you got into the Ministry _six hours ago_ –'

'Hang on –'

'Will you just _let me finish.'_ She hisses towards the end, and Ron feels the knot in his stomach – a mixture of fury and fear – wrap around itself even tighter, 'There'll have been moments when you got into the Ministry six hours ago when you could have sent a message. The minutes after Davidson told you you'd have to stay, or a moment when you probably had to stop writing to file some papers – or after Davidson came in and checked up on you and then others on the team. Rack your brains Ron, there were moments.'

'I'm sorry, again, but it was late. I'd just come back from the new case, I'd been at work for nearly 11 hours, I was knackered and yes, I wasn't thinking. If you ended up doing a 17 hour shift you would be stressed and exhausted too.'

'If you didn't hear from your boyfriend when he was meant to be home nearly 6 hours ago, you would be stressed and exhausted too.' She retorts sharply

'You know...' Ron begins, his face growing sullen with the clear anger that's begun to pour out of the tension between them. He knows he should have seen this coming. _How didn't he see this coming?_ But at the same time, all he wants is for them to get into bed, just be glad that he's home and go to sleep for what little of the night is left. 'You could have gone to sleep.'

'Do you seriously think that I could sleep when you'd been essentially missing from home for 6 hours, and there was no word on where you were? Do you seriously expect that?'

'I don't know-' He begins but then she cuts him off once again, her voice rises and he knows it's growing increasingly shrill.

'I didn't know where the hell you were. I didn't know if you'd been injured and it was taking time for the Ministry to get through to be. I didn't know if something had happened at work and you'd got held up – and not just paperwork – I mean something serious. You work in the Auror office, Ron – you face danger on a daily basis, much more than you ever should and yet I'm expected to go to sleep, pretend like nothing's happened and just assume that you're okay?'

'Maybe, you manage to sail through the day time pretty alright, why not do the same now?'

'I CAN'T SLEEP UNTIL I KNOW YOU'RE SAFE. I CAN'T SLEEP UNTIL I KNOW YOU'RE ALIVE, RON. YOU'RE AN AUROR – DO YOU NOT THINK IT'S TERRIFYING WONDERING FROM DAY TO DAY IF YOU'RE GOING TO COME HOME FROM A MISSION. OR THE NEXT ONE OR THE ONE AFTER THAT.'

'DON'T YOU THINK I FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT YOU.' He shouts, cutting off her bellowing, thankful that with living in a secret house, there are no neighbours to come banging on the door telling them to shut up, 'YOU MAY NOT BE AN AUROR, BUT YOUR WORK IS DANGEROUS TOO, AND THE THOUGHT THAT PEOPLE COULD COME AFTER YOU FOR IT – IT SCARES ME.' His voice drops and cracks towards the end.

'I didn't know you felt that way.' Hermione breathes looking at him whilst he's turned his head trying to rein in the acidic tears that are now starting to sting his eyes in what feels like a corrosive manner.

'We saw the hate mail you got when you were at Hogwarts,' Ron begins, pushing a hand through his hair, 'Spew-'

'S.P.E.W.' Hermione corrects him, and teary laugh flows between them

'S.P.E.W,' He amends, 'I'm so proud that you did that and are continuing to try and push that in your Department, but we know not everyone will be happy with it. We know that people will stop at nothing sometimes to silence a voice, blood status-affective or not. We've seen, experienced that first hand. It scares me that – that that could happen to you.'

'I have days when I'm at work and can't think about anything other than whether you – and Harry- are okay. You go out on missions, on cases, trying to track down these final death eaters from our pasts, and it frightens me that maybe you could go one day and not come back.' Hermione croaks, they are still stood a slight distance apart, repelled magnets slowly re-attracting. 'I'm doing what I can to right wrongs. I'm doing my best to end oppressions, and I know there are bad people out there, and that scares me, but I'm not just going to stop fighting out of the idea of that.'

'I never thought you felt that way. You're Hermione Granger, I thought once you entered the Ministry you were 'work and only work.''

'Now I'm with you, I could never only be _just work_. I'll always worry. No matter where you are and what you, do I'll always worry. I-I love you too much not too.'

'Hermione, I'm never going to stop being proud of what you do, and I _know_ you won't stop until justice is served – rightfully so. The thought of you-' His voice cracks, and he notices that a tear has begun to rush down his left cheek. It may be dark in their bedroom, but by the silvery moonlight passing through the window behind Hermione, he knows his girlfriend can see it. Instead, he lets it fall, careless to brush it away. 'The thought of you ever getting hurt just – we've been through too much of that already. And I'm sorry I didn't let you know, because I know I would have been just has concerned if it was you out there and me here. I'm sor-'

He's quickly cut off by her embrace, her body lightly flung at his; arms wrapped around his middle in the motion of a snake tightening around its prey. Instinct makes his arms join the hug and he's pretty sure, like every time, that part of him never wants to let go. There's a shuddering sigh from Hermione, before she murmurs into his shoulder, 'I'm sorry I lost my temper. That was uncalled for.'

'No,' Ron replies as they pull apart, 'It was totally called for, if a little scary to have your beautiful girlfriend replaced by a still beautiful Hungarian Horntail. I promise I'll-'

'I know you will. Otherwise I'll have to ask your mother about getting one of those bloody clocks for here too.' Hermione reassures, and he notices the tears swimming in her eyes. There are tear tracks from recently fallen drops of pain, but before he can think properly, she's conjured a tissue and has wiped hers away.

He breathes a laugh, letting more unchecked tears spill. Just as he's about to reach up and wipe them away, a smaller hand wraps around his wrist, holding it with the thumb of the other hand she brushes his away for him instead. Her hand doesn't move from both his cheek and wrist as she leans up and kissing Ron with a shaky nerve her rarely sees in her. The kiss tells him that, while words have been reconciled, this is proof that everything's okay.

'Come on,' She whispers, with a small smile, pulling his hand across the room. 'Let's go to bed.'

 **Author's Note – I'll never be good at writing Romione arguments, because I just** _ **want them to be happy**_ **, but let's be real, they'll always argue. Also – off topic but I managed to get tickets to Cursed Child so... very happy. Hope you're all well, and thanks for reading.**


	13. A Sock or Two

Chapter 13 – A Sock or Two

Prompt #90 – Hey Look at This

 _11_ _th_ _August 2008_

'Excellent timing, as always, you two.' Harry smirked looking at Ron as he entered his best friend's old bedroom. Ron had darted up to the attic room a few minutes ago to change Hugo's nappy. And within a few minutes, Lily had decided that she required the same.

'I'm telling you the same thing as I've told Hermione.' Ron started knowingly, 'It's like Al and Rosie – they're in sync.' Rose was five months older than Albus, but since the point when they'd both been able to walk, they had been inseparable any time that Harry and Ginny met up with Ron and Hermione along with the children. Now, Hugo Ronald and Lily Luna, born less than a month apart, were falling into a similar pattern.

'Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's good to have a best friend that's been your best friend for as long as you can remember.' Harry said, as he headed over to where Ron was and lay Lily down a foot away from her cousin.

'Oh, you never know. Meeting your best friends on a train to school when you're eleven.' Ron smiled

Harry took a laugh under his breath, looking briefly away from his daughter to cast a grin and a nudge, 'Or you know, finally becoming friends with Hermione through a troll fight in the girl's toilets.'

Ron heaved a great sigh, starting to change Hugo's nappy. 'I don't know _how_ we're eventually going to tell them that we first became friends through fighting off a troll that came into the toilets where their mother was hid because their father had made her cry. It's not exactly the ideal 'this is how I became friends with my wife' story.'

'True. It's probably better than 'I only saw my wife as my best friend's little sister for all of four years.'' Harry replied, 'Can you pass me the baby wipes please.'

The muggle baby wipes were slid across the space in between the two babies, and the nappy changing process continued for a few moments in silence. This was only interrupted by the small sneeze of Hugo upon Ron not securing the safety cap on the plastic bottle of talcum powder and a wild snowstorm of it spilling profusely over the end of the bed and apparently into Hugo's nose. 'Bless you, Hugo.' Ron chuckled lifting his son up and giving a gentle pat on the back, whilst Hugo proceeded to give another 2 sneezes.

'Does he always do that?' Harry asked, finishing the nappy change and shaking Hugo's hand, from where it was stretched out to him, waving for a scar-headed uncle.

'What? The three sneezes?' Ron asked, 'Always. Never just one or two, always three. Emily said that Hermione used to do that when she was a baby too. Actually, I find it rather cute.' He added, kissing Hugo's forehead before lying him back down and finishing putting his baby grow back on.

'Course you would,' Harry sniggered, 'Whatever Hermione does you find cute. It's amazing what they inherit though isn't it?'

'You're just thankful that Lily doesn't have your hair.'

'True, but it's still amazing. Like she rolls her eyes. _She's five months old and she rolls her eyes._ It's Ginny all over again.'

'She's going to walk all over you.' Ron replied

'Yeah, like the monsters haven't been walking over me since James was born. To be honest, I'm cool with it. I'm just happy they're here.'

'Same.' Ron agreed, and he knew that though he hadn't vocalised the extent to which he agreed, Harry understood that it wasn't simply because of the war, but because he was grateful to have Rose and Hugo after starting to believe for many months that he and Hermione might never have children of their own. Nothing about their journey and experience of having Rose and Hugo had been perfect; it was _far_ from that, but seeing the little bookworm with bright red curls running around with Albus, and the ginger haired, brown eyed, quiet baby in front of him provided a constant reminder that it had all be worth it.

'Hey, look at this.' Ron added. Watching the two babies in front of him, an interesting sock selection on his niece's feet caught his eyes. Far too large, and perhaps more suited to an adult's foot size than the tiny, chubby legs of a baby were two garish socks. The left red and embellished in broomsticks, and the right green scattered with snitches. 'Are- are those-?'

'Dobby's socks? Yep.' Harry sighed, casting a small smile in observation of Lily and Hugo, looking at each other, side by side, and giggling as they kicked their feet. Hugo had stretched his hand out to Lily, and the little girl had reached back, eyes alight as she did so.

'I've not seen those since we moved into Grimmauld Place.' Ron breathed

'They've been lurking in a spare draw for a long time, and I found them a few days after Lily was born. She seemed like the right one to give them too, and then when she's old enough she can do with them as she pleases, but it felt like what Dobby wanted needed to be carried on to someone else. I was dressing her today and she kept squealing at those when I was trying to find some socks or tights or something, so I put them on. It's like she knew that they were more than just socks.'

A silence descended between the two friends before Ron took a breath and decided to pierce the quiet. 'Babies are strange.'

'Agreed.'

Lily's squeal and Hugo's giggle punctuated the conversation, and both sets of the elder eyes cast down to see Lily kicking off the red left sock, and with surprising skill, kicking it over to Hugo. The youngest Granger-Weasley's tiny hands grasped around the sock and yet another gummy, elated smile spread across Hugo's face.

'Looks like she wants him to have one.' Harry beamed, looking between the two babies, who now stared at each other smiling; brown eyes meeting brown eyes.

'Lily? Are you sure?' Ron smiled tickling his niece to the point of extracting another delighted giggle. 'That's very kind of you. _Are you sure?'_ He added for Harry, the official sock owner.

'Why not? She's the owner of the socks now, if she wants to give one to Hugo then she wants to give one to Hugo. Besides, she has good taste.' Harry smirked lifting Lily to his hip like how Ron now similarly had with Hugo.

'How so?'

'Well... she kept the green one. It goes with red hair. The red sock just clashes. Very Weasley.'

'Don't remind me, red on red just doesn't work...' Ron sighed, running a hand through Hugo's hair in an attempt to smooth it. 'It's lovely that you gave them to her though, it's like Dobby's memory has been spread.'

'What better way to spread the love than with socks. That's what Lily seems to think, and that's what Dobby seemed to think too.'

XXXXXXXXXX

 _August 11_ _th_ _2031_

Another birthday celebration had come around, this time, Ginny Potter's fiftieth. They were all getting progressively older now, and the past few years seemed to have passed in a blur. Even the children were ageing; some of which already had children of their own. From where Harry and Ron were sat, the chaos of the Burrow was nothing less than it had been over the past thirty three years since the end of the war. Now, with both a few glasses of firewhisky's drunken, the anarchy was becoming increasingly humorous.

'It's so funny to watch them all.' Ron smirked

'What do you mean?' Harry asked

'You know...' Ron gestured to the scene around them. Teddy was chasing a four year old Remus Harry and one year old Flora Andromeda, the children and their father's hair changing at rapid pace; meanwhile a pregnant Victoire was holding Louis' toddler son. Fred was talking avidly with Albus and James, and his father in the middle of the living room about his own baby son, who was currently being cuddled by Angelina nearby in discussion with Hermione. 'Doing the whole parenting thing.'

'Well, I'll tell you now, it's even funnier watching some of you do the whole grand-parenting thing.' Harry replied looking down to Rose and Scorpius' five month old daughter, Grace, who was staring up at her grandfather and great-uncle questionably. In one arm, the baby was resting, in the other, Ron was trying to steady another glass of firewhisky. 'Exhibit A.'

'Don't know what you're talking about, Harry.' Ron shrugged, rocking the baby slightly as she began to stir a little. 'You and Ginny are going to be ones too in a few weeks.' He added, nodding over to Lily who was sat a couple of sofas away in discussion with Lorcan and Scorpius. Whilst the smiles were evident, both Lily and Lorcan, hands intertwined, looked exhausted. When she had mentioned the lack of sleep to her parents earlier on, Harry had bitten back a snarky remark of how they'd only get even less once the twins arrived. She had the same bat bogey hex as Ginny, and he did _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that.

'How is it?'

'How's what?'

'Having a grandchild?'

Ron's smile suddenly stretched far across his face. 'It's great, and I don't mean because you get to hand them back at the end of the day. It's just nice to have children around again, and it's nice knowing that I'll be able to help Rose out when she heads back to work – perks of taking less hours in my thirties I guess. They stuck and by the time grandchildren have come around – it feels like we can be involved in the same way that Mum and Dad or Robert and Emily were. We can actually help them, and we can spend time with our granddaughter at the same time. It's great.'

'Any advice?'

'No can do on that front Harry. I only specialise in one at a time. Not multiple.'

'Surely what applies to one can apply to two, Ron?' Harry laughed incredulously

'Okay, well don't leave them in the supermarket...'

'Oh you didn't...' Harry roared with laughter

Ron grinned, taking another sip of Firewhisky as Grace continued to observe the older men. 'Thankfully not, that was with Hugo. I learnt my lesson; besides, I reckon Rose would even more catatonic in comparison to Hermione's reaction. Seriously though, just do what you did with James, Al and Lily when they were little, love them, and remember that for the most part, you can hand them back at the end of the day.'

'Alright Ron I'm cutting you off.' Ginny said gently lifting Grace out of Ron's arms and bouncing her slightly 'Otherwise you're going to spill fire whiskey on Gracie.' Ron looked past Ginny and Grace to see Hermione and Rose both giggling a few metres behind, Rose taking her daughter when she arrived back with her aunt. When he turned back he saw Harry glancing over to where Lily was still sat, now reading the Daily Prophet whilst Scorpius had headed over to Rose, Hermione and Ginny, and Lorcan was talking to Rolf, Luna, Lysander, Neville, and Hannah.

'Do you think she's too young?' Harry asked

'She's older than your parents were. She's the same age Ginny was when James was born, and if I recall, you weren't much older. What makes you think that?'

'I dunno. I thought it would be Al first honestly. You assume grandchildren are going to come along, but it always seems miles off. And now she's twenty three.'

'She'll be fine, Harry. Besides, age means nothing if you're ready. We're all proof of that.' Ron shrugged, then something caught his eye, 'Look at this.'

Hugo had gone and sat down on the arm of the end of the sofa where Lily was sat, holding a red, broomstick covered sock in one hand...

'Hey, look at this...' Lily smiled

Hugo shifted so he was facing her, one leg crossed over the other. He'd briefly abandoned Alice Longbottom, his now long term girlfriend and finally joined his best friend, currently stranded on the sofa. 'We've had these as long as I can remember, and Dad always said that you gave it to me.'

A cough interrupted the moment, and both Lily and Hugo turned to see their dad's sat only a sofa away. 'Well actually, she kicked it to you rather than gave it.'

'Thanks, Uncle Ron.'

'Anytime.'

' _Anyway_.' Hugo intervened, grinning at Ron before turning back to Lily, 'We've had one sock each for as long as we can remember. We've been best friends for as long as we can remember. You've- you've been like my twin. So it seems fitting that this goes to one of your twins. Maybe then, superstitious and impractical as it sounds, maybe they'll be just as good friends as we are and have been, and will be.'

'Hugo...' Lily started 'You don't have to do this.'

'You're right, I don't have to.' He replied, his voice its usual quiet tone. Ginger hair swept down over brown eyes, and he pushed his curly fringe back. 'But I _want_ to.'

'Don't you want it for you though, if you have any in the future?'

'I might, we might, we might not. Who knows.' Hugo shrugged, taking a glance over to where Alice was stood talking with Percy and Audrey. Alice caught his glance and beamed back before turning away to the Weasley's again. 'But you _are_ , and there's no one I'd rather give it to to pass it on.'

Lily felt her eyes sting before she looked once again from the sock to Hugo. She knew exactly where it's counterpart, the green one was, tucked away in a memory draw next to a photograph of her and Hugo wearing the pair on the day she kicked his over. 'Hugo... Thank you...' She croaked before shaking her head in an attempt to shake the pang of emotion away too. 'Now, help me up so I can give you a hug.'

 **A/N – Just a little thing that popped into my head whilst rereading Goblet of Fire a couple of weeks ago. Also icymi – Flora was an attempt to combine Fleur and Nymphadora, because I seriously doubt Teddy and Victoire would call a child Nymphadora given how much Tonks hated that name. This seemed to fit, and may or may not be my new headcannon.**


	14. Maybe

**Chapter 14 – Maybe**

 **Prompt #84 – Kiss**

 _Late February 2027_

He'd kissed a boy.

He'd kissed a man.

And now, it felt like everything he had been so certain of in his 19 years was crumbling. He was sure he was straight. But maybe he wasn't. He'd had a girlfriend, whom he'd thought he'd been in love with. He'd felt such intense love for a woman, but now, he was feeling something more than friendship for Kieran.

He wasn't sure of anything now.

Anna had been his first everything. They had met in fourth year at Quidditch tryouts, and in the summer following fifth year, the pair had finally started seeing each other romantically. Everything, as Rose had so bluntly put it, was _'rainbows and glitter until you realised that first love doesn't last forever_.' Her delivery was sour, harsh, on the day he announced that they'd broken up.

' _Mum and Dad are their own first loves though aren't they?' He'd reminded her._

' _Not exactly. Mum kissed Viktor Krum and Dad dated someone called Lavender for ages didn't he?' She replied, putting her reread of Hogwarts, A History down on the bedside table and looking directly at him with stern focus. 'They might not have worked out if they'd been the first for everything, even if what romantic relationships they had beforehand were crap. They needed that to show how much they loved each other.'_

' _So... you and Scorpius?'_

' _We might last, we might not, but for now at least everything seems pretty good, and I'm happy with that.'_

In spite of the late hour, Piccadilly Circus was swarming with umbrella protected muggles. It was amazing how in such a busy place, someone could feel as isolated as he did right now. Hurrying away from the bar where he'd spent the evening with Kieran [who had long since apparated his own way], rain fell like ice on Hugo's back. Finally reaching a darkened alleyway, apparition's familiar tube-sensation took over, and within a few seconds, the deserted road in Reading he had always called home came into view.

Out of the two Granger-Weasley children, Hugo was 'the anxious one.' Rose had always been self assured, quietly confident; only ever anxious when it came to Scorpius Malfoy or exams. He, on the other hand, was the worrier. Anything could get his heart racing in the way she described she felt before exams, and this moment was no exception.

He'd kissed a man. And he'd liked it. It was different, but a good kind of different. And now he was stood outside his sister's bedroom, needing her to talk. Most of the time, when one of them wasn't thinking straight, the other could set them calm. It was her, or talk to his currently sleeping mum and dad; the snores that drifted down the hallway from his Dad brought him back into the present. A raised fist and a knock on the door. A groan came from inside that at first sounded like their Dad when abruptly awoken, but was yet another thing that Rose had apparently inherited from Ron. After the groan came a whispered voice and mumbled response, and before Hugo could question whether or not he was hearing things, the door creaked open to reveal Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius stood looking slightly dishevelled, but that could be easily concealed by the bright, warm smile that he had always given Hugo. Unlike Rose, Hugo had liked Scorpius from their first meeting, as probably influenced by Lily's discussion of how he was Albus' best friend. A part of him was surprised to find Scorpius stood in his sister's doorway, as whilst Ron and Hermione were welcoming of him staying whenever he wanted, usually Rose would be found tidying a usually messy bedroom if she was aware he was coming. Looking past Scorpius, the scattered clothes, pieces of parchment and stacks of books across the desk and floor showed that she had thought otherwise. 'Hey Scor, I'm sorry. I-I didn't know you were staying tonight...'

'Oh no, it was sort of last minute. A pipe burst in the flat. Albus has gone back to Harry and Ginny's. Muggle flat, you know, it's best not to fix it with magic. Hey, are you okay Hugh.' A frown reached his lips glancing Hugo over with concern. 'Rose?'

'I- yeah- Please.' Hugo breathed as the blonde man nodded, reawakening Rose with a kiss on the forehead; followed was a brief exchange of whispers before Scorpius moved away.

'I'll go and make a cup of tea.' Scorpius added, and warmth washed over Hugo, knowing that it was his subtle way of giving them space to talk. Watching him leave the room and close the door, Rose heaved herself up into a sitting position, crossing her legs on the single bed. A mane to rival their mother's, bright red and bushy curls flowed untamed from Rose's head, and brushing the sleep out of her eyes, she gestured for Hugo to come over and sit down.

'What's up?'

'I need to tell you something. And I need you to just hear it all, and not judge.'

'I don't-'

'Please. You and Scorpius would have been together an extra 2 years if you hadn't been so judging of the Malfoy name.'

Rose conceded, giving a small reassuring smile. 'I won't, I promise.'

He hesitated for a second before saying in a quick exhale, 'I just kissed a guy.'

He waited for a raised eyebrow, or a smirk so similar to their mother's, but it didn't come. Instead she glanced with concern, understanding and a complete neutrality that he would never have expected from someone who at times could be explosive. 'Okay then.'

'That's it? Okay?' Hugo croaked

'Well, it's not what I expected you to say, but never mind that. What happened?'

'It... just sort of happened. I don't know... We'd spent the evening with friends, and one minute we were walking to the Underground, and the next we were just stood talking, and the next he kissed me, and I kissed him back. And I liked it.'

'Hugh... have you thought, maybe...'

'That I'm Bi?' Hugo completed, 'That's what I came to talk to you about. I was there and I was kissing him and I liked it. Maybe I am. I-I just- when I went out earlier, I didn't expect to have a conversation like this.'

'When Scorpius and I went to bed tonight, I didn't expect to have a conversation like this. But if it's important to you, then it matters; and I'm happy to talk about it. Do you want to talk about it?'

'There was a guy in Hufflepuff, when we were at Hogwarts. We were always put together in Potions. Nicholas Thornby. He- he was cute, I found him cute, and not just in the heterosexual way. And I ignored it, we were just friends and it always stayed at just friends, but I think, before Anna, and after Anna, a part of me attracted to him...' He sighed, running a hand through his fringe, 'Maybe I am Bisexual. Maybe I am, but right now it's just hit me like the Hogwarts Express and I don't know what to do or what to think.'

His heart was pounding, perhaps faster than he had possible expected in the many ways he had considered this conversation unravelling in the past hour. Rose patted the bed and he sat down next to her. The midnight blue duvet was ruffled and creased in ways he would never be able to quite explain; his sister had always been a tosser and turner in the night, as he remembered from the nights as a little child when he had climbed into her bed and she had kicked the duvet to the floor in her sleep. Reaching for her wand, a hushed 'Accio' was muttered before a small steaming red mug. 'Here, drink this.'

'What is it?'

'Hot Chocolate with an anxiety potion mixed in.' Rose reasoned as Hugo raised an eyebrow, 'Scor has been experimenting with ways of controlling his Anxiety. Uncle Harry told him about Teddy's Dad, and how he used to give people chocolate to help steady their nerves. Apparently it's been really working, but I'm worried he'll get diabetes if he goes overboard.'

Hugo exhaled a laugh before taking a sip of the magically heated drink. Instantly his heart's pace slowed to steady, mellow beat. His senses turned down their heightened volume and suddenly everything felt easier. 'Which chocolate did he use?'

'Cadbury's Dairy Milk. We had some left over from Christmas in the top cupboard, and Dad said that if Scor didn't use it then Mum would probably end up eating it all.' Rose grinned, before nudging her brother in the side with her elbow, 'You know, Hugh, it doesn't make any difference to any of us, so long as you're happy. It doesn't change the fact that you're my brother and I love you. And it certainly won't matter to Mum and Dad. Even then, there's no rush, just tell people when you're ready.'

'I know there's no rush, and I know it's only just hit me, but I'm ready. It's real and it's been real for years, it's just all making sense now. Do you think they'd mind if I went and told them?' Hugo whispered, sitting up and properly looking Rose in the eye.

'Of course they wouldn't mind, you _know_ they wouldn't, so long as you're happy.' Rose grinned, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. 'Are you okay?

'Yeah...' Hugo said standing and heading towards the door, 'I'm fine, thanks Rosie.' Quickly dipping out of the room, his sock covered feet brushed against the upstairs hallway's carpet. The occasional floorboard creaked beneath the fabric, and he had no doubt that has soon as Scorpius heard the movement, he would head back upstairs to Rose's bedroom. Finally reaching the door to where he could hear his father snoring, Hugo lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

Like that which had come from Rose's room, there was a murmuring as the inhabitants arose from their slumber. 'Yes?' said a soft voice only recognisable as Hermione's, 'Hugo? Is that you? Are you alright?'

'Mum, Dad?' He began, pushing the door open slightly to see Hermione sat upright as Ron ignited a light bulb in the bedside lamp with his Deluminator. 'Can I come in?'

 **Author's Note – Someone who read's this chapter isn't going to agree with it, but this is fanfiction and this is what over many years of reading fanfiction myself, have come to believe about Hugo Granger-Weasley. It's just something I believe, something that as a theme should have been more evident in the Harry Potter series, and something that in turn, I wanted to write about. It's not my best chapter, I can feel that, but it was the best I could do with the limited experience I have in this area.**


	15. Devoted

**Chapter 15: Devoted**

 **Prompt #8: Devotion**

 _Late April 2006_

4 months in, and they still weren't accustomed to the high pitch cry that awoke them throughout the night. Sometimes Ron and Hermione would wake up and have to remind the other that they had a baby daughter. Sometimes it felt like, no matter the crying and the pain of little sleep, this was the dream that neither wanted to be woken up from. Then there were nights like this, where neither had the energy to do anymore.

"Hermione... it's your turn." Ron groaned, turning over and thrusting his face into a pillow.

"No... it's your turn."

"No...it's your turn. "

"It's. Your. Turn." Hermione muttered through gritted teeth, "I fed her forty minutes ago. Now go."

'Alright, I'm going, I'm going, I'm-'

The crying suddenly stopped, and Ron turned to look at Hermione from his sitting near the end of the bed. Relief swept through his veins at the realisation that Rose was okay, and whatever it was that had bothered her she had now disregarded.

'Oh good.' Ron sighed, climbing back into the bed, 'Well. See you in 20 minutes, love. I'm going back to sleep.'

'RON.'

'What'

'We can't just ignore the crying. She might have stopped, but give her a few seconds and she'll start again.'

'Which is all the more reason for us to savour that time and get some bloody sleep.' Ron replied, and Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, but internally agreeing with his statement. They needed the sleep that had eluded them both recently.

'May I remind you...' Hermione said her voice like ice as she ran a hand through her wild, untamed mane, 'that I was sleep deprived for a good few months before you joined the club.'

'I know, and that's shit. And I'm sorry. But we're both in this now and we're both exhausted, and if we don't get any sleep we'll end up nodding off whilst feeding her, or whilst she's in the bath, or apparating...'

'It's alright.' A voice came from the doorway, 'We've got her.' Both Ron and Hermione turned and looked up to see Elizabeth – Hermione's mother - stood in the doorway, small smirk on her face at the sight of her daughter and son in law arguing. Not far behind her stood Robert – Hermione's father – pacing up and down in the upstairs corridor; a light bounce was evident in his stance and feet as he rocked Rose. Hermione's heart warmed at the sight of her dad's action, imagining he and her mother had probably done the same when she was a baby.

'We're sorry she woke you,' Hermione sighed sitting up properly and looking concerned as Rose continued to cry.

'It's fine, we were awake anyway- well, your father was anyway.' Elizabeth rolled her eyes, wrapping her dressing gown more tightly around her frame. '2 in the morning, and still reading... I went to sleep hours ago.' She added, casting a glance round to where her husband was still slowly pacing.

'What?' Robert exclaimed over Rose's cries, 'It's a really good book!''

Ron laughed at the similarities of Robert and Hermione in this moment. Six months ago, this was still the kind of thing Hermione would be doing, but the final trimester before their daughter was born had sent her into a state of exhaustion in the evenings. Most nights, once her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep until the insomnia kicked in. They had countless nights like this in their marriage, where Ron would wake up in the early hours to find Hermione still pouring over a book. Even now, having known Hermione's parents properly for nearly 8 years, the similarities between them and their daughter still astounded him.

'Nevertheless, we should have got to her first. Sorry.' Ron added with sincerity at the sight of watching Robert continue to calm Rose. Rose was for the most part a peaceful and lively baby, but when she cried no sound was more painful to hear.

'Really, dears, it's fine.' Elizabeth shrugged, 'It's nice to have young life around the house again, no matter what time of the day.'

'We're young!' Hermione retorted. 'We're only twenty six!'

'You are, but not _this_ young.' Robert nodded to the still crying Rose, her face was streaked with tears that had now tainted her cheeks a red to rival the Weasley hair.

'Why don't you just let us calm her down, she'll stop soon.' Hermione uttered, starting to push the duvet off her side of the bed and move her feet to the floor.

'Don't you dare, young lady.' Her mother replied and Hermione backed down, pulling the cover quickly back over her; without warning Rose stopped crying and started to gurgle. 'Good girl.' Elizabeth added, not directed at anyone in particular.

'Who was that meant for?' Ron asked, casting a smirk towards his mother and father in law.

Elizabeth glanced between Hermione, and to Rose, whose thumb was wrapped around her grandfather's finger. 'Probably both of them.'

Ron laughed, but the sound changed to a cough as Hermione cast a sharp glance towards him. It felt like a relief to both of them to not get out of bed to calm Rose, but seeing her upset still brought the urge to Ron and Hermione to scoop their daughter of her grandparent's arms and cuddle her in an attempt to smother with love. Noticing their anxious expressions, Elizabeth gave them a reassuring smile as she sat down on the edge of the bed. 'You know, it doesn't make you any less of parents to accept help.'

'No, but wouldn't you feel guilty for not going to get her, regardless of who's around?' Hermione whispered, observing that Rose had calmed to a point of nearly dozing in Robert's arms.

'Yes, and we always felt like that with you, but that's how we learnt that we couldn't not take the help that was available.'

'She's right, Hermione,' Robert murmured, still gazing down at Rose with a small smile playing upon his mouth. 'And it doesn't make either of you less of a good parent just because when she starts crying you end up arguing over who's turn it is to get up.'

'Really?' Ron asked, 'Because we seem to be doing that every other night.' He glanced around the room that had once been Hermione's childhood bedroom. It wasn't usual for them to stay at her parent's house, but after a long visit, it seemed cruel to apparate or floo with Rose when she was starting to drift in and out of sleep. The room was still just the same as it had been when Hermione had lived here – purple, and covered with many of the books which they still hadn't gotten round to finding space for in their own home. Now, sitting up on the bed that had been magically extended by he and Hermione a few years before, he contemplated the possibly buying her more shelves for her next birthday, or just because...

'Of course.' Robert smiled, 'It doesn't make you any less devoted to her because you're tired. Being tired from getting up to care for her, and spending so many hours looking after her between you just shows how devoted you are. That's what we found; because you can love your daughter to death and still be tired, and still have days where you argue because you're too tired to get out of bed. Even if you argue, and you don't want to do it, you still do, and that's dedication.'

'Thanks, Dad.' Hermione murmured, looking at Ron and smiling. A grin grew in return as he walked over to where Rose was lying in Robert's arms, kissing her forehead.

'Get some sleep Rosie.' He whispered, stroking a thumb over the hand currently clutched around his finger.

'Now, if you two don't mind, I think someone is ready to go back to sleep, and someone else is ready to go back to their book...' Elizabeth chuckled, heading to the doorway, and switching the ceiling light out, 'Get some rest.'

Ron slid back under the covers as Hermione leant a head against his shoulder. In the hours of sleep, her hair had been restored to its untameable norm, spreading in a halo around her shoulders. 'Ron?' she muttered sleepily.

'Yeah?'

'We can do this.' She her voice lowered, and a grin grew across his mouth as Hermione's breathing slowed, the weight of her head growing heavier.

'You're right,' He whispered, 'We can.'

 **A/N – Again, not the greatest of chapters, but I started this chapter** _ **months**_ **ago, probably July, and now it's October, and it needed completing. Like always, I'm swamped in work for my A Levels and university applications, but I'll update when I can.**


	16. Fault Lines

**Chapter 16: Fault Lines**

 **Prompt #36: Pain**

' _Fault lines, tremble underneath my glass house. But I put out of my mind. Long enough to call it courage, to live without a lifeline.' – Earth by Sleeping at Last_

 _(Late February 2008)_

They had been skirting around each other for days, and the silence was agonising.

At first things had been fine, or as fine as they could be when a piece of news changed your futures. They would talk and take care of Hugo together; but they never really _talked_ about what had happened that night 2 weeks ago. Instead she had withdrawn, and Ron had tried mercilessly to communicate. The more he talked, the quieter she grew.

In any other situation, Ron and Hermione would argue the tension out. Arguing was what they did. Although as they'd gotten older, it became increasingly clear that Harry and Ginny were pretty good at it too; the pair had lost track of the number of times Harry had ended up staying the night in their spare room. Arguing wouldn't solve this though.

Spitting fire wouldn't heal the damage that had been done.

Rose was pinnacle in their communication; talking indirectly to each other through speaking directly to her instead. No fire was breathed, but everything, even the pain, phrased through light voices and gentle word selections. Hugo crying at night was a relief, as it broke the inevitable silence that was found within their bedroom. It meant that instead of lying awake in silence they could make very small small-talk over the baby, usually consisting of 'He just needed changing,' or 'Hermione, he needs feeding.'

'I can't get through to her, Harry.' Ron whispered as they sat in the Potter's home, in a little outside Aldershot. According to Ginny it was 'the perfect distance between you and Hermione, London, and being far enough away from Mum for her to not appear on our doorstep every day.' James, Albus and Rose were playing on the living room floor; a game that looked somewhat similar to a teddy bear's picnic, but stuffed toy pygmy puffs, phoenixes, hippogriffs and dragons also joined the Muggle bears. 'We haven't properly spoken since the day after Hugo was born.'

'How are you getting anything done then?' Harry asked passing James a plastic cup half-filled with pumpkin juice. 'How are you raising a two week old baby if you don't talk?'

'We do talk, we talk via Rosie. I told Hermione I was bringing her here through something along the lines of 'Daddy's taking you and Hugo to Uncle Harry's today,' in front of her. That's how she told me a couple of days ago that she was going into the Ministry today to get something she left before going on leave. She shouldn't really be going, she should be resting, but I can't stop her can I? And we communicate through Hugo, but it's mainly in 'he needs feeding' or 'I just changed him.' Nothing is ever direct.' He glanced down at Hugo and the tiny hand that wrapped around Ron's finger. The eyes were Hermione's in shape and expression; curious, but his in colour. Whilst he now had them on his son, he hadn't properly seen his wife's in weeks.

'What do I do? She- she lies in bed in the day or wanders silently around the house, and she's not how she was with Rosie when she was a baby. With Hugo... she's still loving, but she's colder, like there's detachment. She doesn't laugh, hardly smiles at him, everything is... muted. And yet, I can't tell her that. How can I tell her that when she won't even look at me?'

'What if someone else tried talking to her?' Both Ron and Harry suddenly turned to see Ginny, now eight months pregnant, stood in the doorway from the living room to the kitchen.

'When did you get here?' Harry asked as Ginny appeared, resting a hand on his shoulder.

'Sorry, I was trying not to startle you, I just got back a couple of minutes ago.' Ginny smiled, 'But I'm serious. She speaks to other people when she's around them, so what if someone else speaks to her instead. She's depressed, Ron, she could probably do with the comfort, if she's willing to accept it.'

'Would you, would you talk to her?' Ron croaked, looking towards his sister.

Harry and Ginny briefly shared a look, 'I don't think my presence would be best, given...' She trailed, looking towards her stomach, 'the circumstances. Actually I was thinking...'

'What if I did?' Harry finished the sentence, meeting the looks of the two Weasley siblings.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The Granger-Weasley house was nearly silent as Harry watched the dying flames of the floo network flicker to ashes in the fireplace. Where his best friend and goddaughter had stood only moments ago, all that existed were cinders of floo powder. 'I'll be back soon,' Ron had said before heading to drop off Rose with Hermione's parents for the afternoon. _Soon might not be enough_ , Harry thought, worried that Ron return and no progress would've been made.

XXXXXXXXXX

Wails from Hugo didn't drag her from the bed in the same way Rose's had. With Rose, she had rushed over; hoping to ease whatever pain was felt. Rose's pain had been her pain. With Hugo, she would still try to ease the cries, but not with the same passion that she had with their daughter. Her pain wasn't Hugo's, but that what they had hoped the first few weeks of their son's life would be like wasn't a reality. She loathed with every fibre of her being that right now, this was _her_ reality.

It still hurt to lift Hugo from his cot; physically as well as emotionally, but she still did it. Looking at him felt like a shield charm between them, causing the lack of emotion and love she had so expected to overwhelm her at the sight of her son. 'It's okay, Hugo, it's okay...' She trailed, but when the crying continued the softness of her voice lessened, 'What do want me to do? Daddy just changed you, I fed you 10 minutes ago, and you've slept. What do you need?'

'Perhaps he just needs a cuddle...' Harry injected, the spectacled man appearing in the doorway.

'Harry? Yeah, well I don't seem to be very good at that right now...' She replied, continuing to pace up and down her and Ron's bedroom in the afternoon light, trying to get Hugo's crying to cease. 'Unless you want to give it a try, he seems to calm for everyone but me.'

'I doubt that's true, but here...' Hermione passed Hugo over to Harry; instantly the crying eased at Harry's gentle rocking. 'See, he just needed a cuddle. Can I ask you something?' Without waiting for a response, he continued, 'Why won't you talk to Ron?'

'He sent you, didn't he?' Her eyes narrowed, a scathing look passing over her face in a sense of betrayal.

'No actually, I offered. Why won't you talk to him?'

Hermione sighed sitting down on the end of the bed, unable to meet his eyes. The house was now silent accept for the soft gurgling of the baby whom Harry was still cradling. 'I... can't... it's my fault.'

'What's your fault?'

'Oh don't patronise me Harry. Ron probably told you already...' Silence fell once again between the two friends. She knew him well, _too_ well, and she knew that something so big would never have been managed to be kept between the two of them. It was such a big bombshell that the dust cloud was smothering.

When he finally spoke up, his voice cracked, 'I'll never forget that night, you know. He cried for hours, and went into this state of shock. I brought Rose to come and meet Hugo, like you'd both asked, and he and Ginny were stood on the corridor not far from your room. You wouldn't believe how tightly they were hugging even if you saw it. And then Rose went running over to him, and Ron just _sobbed_ into her. She fell asleep and he sat holding her against him for hours, like she was all he had. He was so scared, Hermione. We all were.'

'I can't have anymore, Harry.' Pulling herself out of a head-in-hands position, the stinging, teary eyes of Hermione met Harry's concerned green. 'We waited for so long, to even have Rose. We wanted this for so long, and we have it, we have a family, and it doesn't feel right. I look at her and I feel so much love, and then I look at Hugo and feel nothing. And it _is_ my fault that we can't have anymore.'

An arm snaked around her shoulders, and Hermione leaned in, resting her head on Harry's shoulder. Hugo was there; _right there_ , resting in the crook of Harry's other arm, and yet with ease and guilt, she found herself looking away from her son. The little boy with bright blue eyes, ginger hair; who gurgled and observed, the little boy who wasn't loved by his mum. 'How is it your fault?'

'Well it's not Ron's, is it?' Hermione sniffed, 'It's my body. I'm the reason we can't have more.'

'Hermione, he loves you so much. Just let him in. _Talk to him_. Please? For Rosie and Hugo's sake.' Harry whispered, his arm still around the girl he called his sister. As if queued, as Hermione finally gave a nod of agreement, a knock on the door interrupted the quiet moment. Ron stood, pale faced in the doorway, ocean eyes alight with an intense mix of love and despair.

'Come on Hugo,' Harry whispered, heading towards the door and towards Hugo's bedroom, 'let's give Mummy and Daddy some time to talk... have you heard the story of Buckbeak the hippogriff?'

Hermione stood up, becoming level with his gaze. A part of her wanted to fling her arms around her husband right now and be done with it all; another part craved a screaming match, and another just wanted to go to bed, and act like none of this was happening. Instead, she held his stare; suddenly it felt like the tent ten years ago following on from his return.

'Hermione, _please.'_ Ron choked, ' _Please talk to me._ It's like you're gone, and I know it has everything to do with that night, we _have_ to talk about it, _I_ have to talk about it. Because otherwise it'll just tear us apart, like it already is. I can't spend another day in this silence. All I want is for us to try and get through this together instead of independently.'

'I can't have children. I can't have any more. Everything with our son will be the last first. The last first words, first magic, first steps. What's worse is that because of what happened, I can't connect to him, I don't feel _anything_ towards him. Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you have any idea what it's like to know about this being for 6 months, prepare for their arrival, feel this immense, overwhelming love for them, even when they're born, but then because of what happened after, every ounce of that disappearing? And I don't expect you to forgive that, because I can barely deal with myself knowing this, and knowing that it's because of me that this is our future.' Her voice cracked, and the room once again fell into hushed air. If they listened close enough, both could here Harry talking quietly to Hugo down the hallway.

There was still significant distance between them as Hermione pushed her hair away from her face and looked on as Ron's expression changed from pain, to horror, to sadness. She believed he knew that those were the words that she was going to say, but not with the amount of anguish that had just been expressed.

'It's not your fault, Hermione.' Ron retorted softly.

'I know, I know it's Bellatrix's and what she did, but it's still my fault that _we_ can't have any more. We both said that we were happy with two, but what if we changed our minds? What if one day we woke up decided we wanted a third, then a fourth? We never said never, and now that's not possible. And th-those children that we would have named and loved and sent to Hogwarts suddenly don't exist anymore, and it feels suffocating.' Finally allowing tears to fall, Hermione made no attempt to stop the waterfall that after two weeks had at last broken down.

'It's my body. Suddenly it just stops working and I'm supposed to be okay with that? I'm supposed to be okay with the fact that I never got a say, I never got a choice, I didn't have control over my body and what I did with my body in a decision that's life-effective? And that's foul.' For what felt like an eternity, he

'It isn't fair.' Hermione sniffed, harshly brushing tears away with a jumper sleeve. Ron came a step closer to Hermione, still maintaining distance despite the urge to wipe the tears away for her instead.

'You're right; it isn't fair. But we have a lifetime for firsts to encounter together, and with Rosie and Hugo, and there's no one I'd rather do it all with then you. Because for a couple of hours there, I thought we were going to lose you, Hermione. You're here, I'm here, Rose is and so is Hugo. We're all here and knowing that we've still got each other when it could've all ended, for me that's enough.' Ron reassured her. 'All I'll ever need is you.'

'Oh God-' Hermione's face crumpled, rushing over to Ron, as he wrapped his arms around her, 'I'm sorry Ron. I'm so sorry.' They stood like that for what felt like forever, and for the first time in weeks, they were seeing eye to eye, on equal playing fields. 'I know it's not Hugo's fault, but I don't feel anything. That's t-terrifying...' She murmured into his shoulder.

'I think, _we_ think, you're depressed; but we're going to fix you, Hermione, I promise. And you'll love Hugo, and we'll get through this together.'

'I'm sorry.'

She would apologise again and again, and for years, she would hold those first two weeks against herself in many moments when it came to Hugo. She would get help, and they'd get through it, and very soon, the love she felt for her baby son would come flooding back. But in this moment of uncertainty, as they held each other and Ron kissed her forehead, all he could exhale was 'it's okay, everything's going to be okay,' before tears spilled down his face too.

 **A/N** **\- This chapter was written in June, long before Cursed Child was publicly available. I wrote this because at the time, this is what I genuinely believed after years of reading FanFiction which convinced me of this [I don't know why, either.] However, there are lines in Cursed Child that make this idea completely invalid, so I've since bought into the new cannon. That wasn't going to stop me from posting a fully written and edited chapter though. So here it is.**


	17. Would Have Known

**Chapter 17: Would Have Known**

 **A/N: CURSED CHILD SPOILERS LIE AHEAD. Don't say I didn't warn you...**

 **Prompt #1: Haunted**

1st November 2020

'I'm sorry, Headmistress, but this can't wait until the morning.' Hermione breathed, brushing the dust and floo powder off her shoulders as she stepped out of the fireplace. Another crackle came behind her as Ron stumbled out from where she had stood a matter of seconds before. Normally she'd have glared at the informal tripping, but now was neither the time nor place. Besides, seeing the look on his face made her dismiss any critical impulses in a heartbeat. The years since the war had mellowed his anxiety, but instead of the jovial expression he normally wore, his eyes donned a weary look of concern that rarely emerged nowadays. Even in the past couple of months whilst everything had been occurring with Albus and Scorpius, he had normally acted as the calming force between the other parents. But now was different. The fear that had clearly been racing through him in Godric's Hollow was surfacing from where he'd attempted to keep it contained.

'Of course, Minister. Mr and Mrs Potter are with Albus in the hospital wing, the same for Mr Malfoy with Scorpius, they gave me _brief_ details, but I am assuming you're here to explain?' McGonagall raised an eyebrow wearily.

With a gesture to the two chairs that sat on the other side of what was formerly Dumbledore's throne-esque desk seat, Ron and Hermione joined the now aging Minerva McGonagall. A green tartan dressing gown similar to that they had both occasionally seen in their own time at Hogwarts reminded the couple of the lateness of the hour, the clock edging further and further away from midnight, and progressively closer to the cold of morning.

'We... we have seized a young woman tonight who allegedly claims that she is the daughter of Voldemort.' Hermione began, glancing over at Ron, who nodded, as if acting in silent encouragement. 'This conspired after another incident with a time-turner, which transported Albus and Scorpius back to the night that Harry's parents were murdered. Through means that we're still not totally aware of, Harry found out about this, and through another time-turner we were able to reach that time and seize said perpetrator.'

Silence hung in between the three adults, and McGonagall had drawn pale, as if lacking some of the stiff composure she for the most part had always maintained. In the moment, age painted her in an older light than she'd looked since the war. 'A _daughter_? A _child_?' She croaked

'It's not confirmed. It's her word against, well everybody else's. We don't know of any history that can confirm it, but she's certainly taken to the Dark Arts, expressing some of the same magical qualities, we've seen a lot tonight, but they could have all been learnt.' Hermione added

'So what next?' McGonagall questioned

'An emergency meeting will be held in the morning. For now there's no threat – she was the only threat and she's now under control. She's currently taking up residence in Azkaban, and we'll sort out the next steps for her trial soon. The castle is safe and that looks certain for the near future as far as we can see.' Hermione sighed

'We hope you don't mind Professor, but would it be possible for us to take Rose and Hugo home for a few nights?' Ron finally spoke, uttering the words Hermione was thinking. 'They deserve to know what's been going on, and after tonight-'

'We'd rather have them close to us for a couple of days, please.' Hermione cut in, noticing the slight crack in Ron's voice.

'Of course, I thought you might ask...' She smiled softly at her former students and within a matter of minutes Neville was walking holding the door open, bringing in a pyjama-clad Rose and Hugo into the dimly lit room.

'Hi-oomf.' Hermione said as Rose rushed towards her, arms wide. 'Are you okay?'

'We're fine.' Rose replied, withdrawing as Hugo had his arms wrapped around Ron's waist. 'We were just worried. What's going on?'

'Hey,' Ron said reaching a hand to Rose's cheek as Hermione enveloped Hugo, 'Everybody's fine, we're fine, we promise. Everything's going to be okay.' With the reassurance, Rose straightened a little, regaining whatever composure had been briefly lost.

'We'll explain in the morning, but for now, Professor McGonagall has allowed us to take you back with us for a few days, just until we've got everything sorted, okay?' At the small smiles and nods from their children, Hermione turned to McGonagall, allowing the children to head into the fireplace. 'Thank you so much Minerva.'

'No problem. Do what you have to do. Keep me updated.' McGonagall smiled briefly as the crackle of the fireplace ignited.

XXXXXXXXXX

'Tomorrow afternoon, we'll hold an emergency meeting with the Wizengamot regarding the events of tonight. Harry, if you could get all of the members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in then that'd be brilliant. We'll need to apologise for disrupting their Sunday, but tell them it's urgent.' Hermione breathed, pacing up and down the living room. Ron, Harry and Ginny watched, heads following her frantic movements back and forth. She'd been doing this for ten minutes now, and with each extra erratic speech, the more anxious her companions grew. 'We'll hold the meeting, and then in that arrange the trial. Ron, Ginny, you'll both probably have to give witness testimonies in the coming days, as will Draco, Al and Scorpius. And-'

'Darling, sit down.' Ron said, standing up and pulling Hermione down onto the sofa next to him. 'You're going to faint if you carry on like that.'

'Does she seriously require a trial?' Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. The living room of Ron and Hermione's house was dimly lit with a few lamps, so as not to disturb Rose and Hugo, who they believed and hoped would be asleep. Just in case they weren't, a _Muffliato_ charm had been cast on the stairs. They would find out everything, but first, things had to be discussed.

'It's routine Harry. Not to mention a basic human right. You of all people, as head of DMLE should know that.' Hermione reminded him softly, leaning into Ron's side.

'I know but-' Harry began the retort

'Routine, love.' Ginny interjected, squeezing his hand. From across the room, both Ron and Hermione could see the visible calming that this gesture had.

'I know, I know. It just doesn't seem fair that there are _multiple_ witnesses to what's happened tonight and since September. We have two children who've witnessed someone be _murdered_ tonight, and one of them had the cruciatus curse placed on them. Democracy or not, humanity or not, it isn't fair.' Harry said

'You're right. It isn't. But when the witnesses are the Minister for Magic, the Minister for Magic's husband, the Head of DMLE, a Senior Correspondent for the only wizarding newspaper, the ' _Golden Trio,'_ Harry Potter's son, and Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy's son, it would look odd if there _wasn't_ a trial.' Ron replied

Silence hummed between the four adults. The day seemed to have aged them more then any recent year. Harry didn't look nearly as exhausted as he had after the aftermath of any of their later school years, but nevertheless, the events of the night decorated his face with frustration and worry.

'I don't think she's Voldemort's.' Ginny breathed, extracting the looks of Harry, Ron and Hermione from their formerly dazed expressions.

'I don't either.' Harry began seeming to be thankful that his wife was sharing the unspoken opinion, 'I think I did at the time... but now I'm not so sure.'

'But she seemed so sure. So convinced. Maybe she's Bellatrix's but fathered by someone else?' Ron added

Hermione straightened, clearing her throat. 'She's definitely Bellatrix's. There was just something... But perhaps someone _has_ told her, convinced her that she's Voldemorts, it could even be Rodolphus that did it – she mentioned him. All those traits – the flying for one – they aren't genetic. They're learnt. She could very easily have been convinved that he was her father, and in response tried her best to emulate him. To _live up to him._ '

'So if we summon Rodolphus Lestrange, Euphimia Rowle, anyone she mentioned who had a history with her... Veritaserum?' Harry suggested

'The date though...' Ron started, 'She said she was born _just_ before the Battle of Hogwarts. We were at Malfoy Manor just over a month before the 2nd May.'

'Are we sure Bellatrix wasn't-' Harry started

'No.' Hermione began, a slight croak in her voice, but a forceful pang in the single word nonetheless. 'She- when she carved into my arm, she was lying over me. I would have known.' Her voice drew to a whisper towards the end of her words, Ron wrapping his arm around her shoulders once again.

Tension arose, enveloping the four for a few brief moments. They rarely spoke about what happened that day anymore. Their children still weren't aware of what had happened that March evening, and now wasn't the time to begin that conversation.

'Besides, Concealment Charms don't work on people either. And Draco would have known. He was equally horrified, if not more, when he heard Delphi mention Bellatrix. There was an entire year there, the time between when she killed Sirius, and Dumbledore's death that she wasn't seen by anyone in the Order, or at all in public. She went quiet. That time would make _perfect_ sense. And again, maybe she's been convinced of otherwise. She's older than 22.' Ginny added

'We're going to have to tell them both everything...' Ron sighed, looking painfully at Hermione.

'We are and we will, and we'll be better for it, as will they for knowing.' Hermione squeezed the hand of his already lying in between their touching thighs. 'And Harry, we will fix all of this, whatever it takes. I promise.' She gave her brother by everything but blood the fierce look she had alwasy worn when so determined it was alarming, particularly back in the days of S.P.E.W and the Horcrux hunting.

The clock on the mantel piece _tick, tick, ticked_ , fracturing each hour into minutes, minutes into seconds. Time had become liquid in the past couple of months. It had been malleable; easy to remould and repour. Now once again, it had been solidified, and hopefully once and for all.

 **Author's Note** **: This idea has been a stirring for a while now. It was just something that I needed to do. I guess this is my way of drawing the line on how I feel about Cursed Child and y'know, the** _ **twist**_ **. I REFUSE to believe that Voldemort would have ever had a child – it goes against everything in his nature. However, I do believe that Delphini could have been manipulated and raised to believe that she** _ **was**_ **his daughter, perhaps out of spite from Rodolphus [who I actually believe to be her biological father] or hope from the Rowle's that she could start a new order of Death Eaters. Anyway, it's totally plausible, but that's just my theory amongst the many you'll find on the internet.**


	18. Last Minute

**Chapter 17** **:** **Last Minute**

 **Prompt #73: Secret**

 _25_ _th_ _December 2035_

Hermione had always been one for tidiness. Her Muggle pens in her office desk were lined up by colour, and her bookcases were meticulously organised. Non-fiction and fiction separate. Grouped by topic or genre, then arranged alphabetically by author surname. But even Hermione Granger could make exceptions, especially when it came to little children, birthdays, and Christmas. This Granger-Weasley Christmas was particularly compliant with this. Rose's 30th birthday had been the day before, and her and Scorpius' two young daughters, Grace and Eleanor had spent the best part of the past few days with faces aglow at the seas of wrapping paper.

Over the past few years, Granger-Weasley Christmases had expanded into Granger-Weasley-Potter-Malfoy-Longbottom Christmases. After joining the main Weasley family for lunch, Christmas dinner itself had been done on a smaller scale between Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny, Neville and Hannah, and Draco. Now, the Potters had headed home with Draco, and the rest of the family were spread across Ron and Hermione's living room. Ron was currently giving Grace a piggyback running around the room, pretending to be an airplane, extracting excitable laughter from both participants. Rose and Scorpius were trying to get a stubborn one-year-old Eleanor to walk, with Scorpius holding her by the arms, attempting to steer her towards Rose knelt a few feet away from them. Neville, Hannah, and Hermione chatted by the crackling fire, taking in the warm atmosphere of this family Christmas.

Hugo didn't need to be in the room to feel the same. He could hear the quiet happiness from his position by the sink, washing the remains of the plates and cutlery after a galleon flip between he and Rose. Sure, he could have simply enchanted the plates to wash themselves like his Grandma Molly did, but Ron and Hermione had instilled in their children from a young age to choose Muggle before Magic, blending both heritages. If something could easily be done by hand, then why use magic unnecessarily? He didn't mind really, given that they were only a room away, and anything particularly eventful or revolutionary could easily be heard through the open door, and within a few minutes, he'd be back in the room with his family. A matter of minutes, and he'd be the one entertaining his elder niece, or teasing his sister and brother-in-law for their lack of success in getting Eleanor to walk.

"You know, given the lack of washing up you do at home, I'm not surprised how long this is taking you." A smirk evident in the light voice.

There was Alice, light brown hair curled for the festive occasion, and proudly wearing a Christmas jumper. She permanently wore the same shy but content expression that her father Neville always had in their Herbology classes back at Hogwarts. It was weirdly one of the things that had drawn him most to her. Their relationship had contradicted any others he'd known in so many ways. Particularly that of his parents. Unlike them, or Rose and Scorpius, Hugo and Alice hadn't fallen in love in Hogwarts. They'd been friends through their being in Gryffindor in the same year at Hogwarts, but any sort of attraction hadn't hit until five and half years ago, when they were both 22. Contrasting to the "romantic middle of a war" love story of Ron and Hermione, and the "love at first sight on one side, and gradual hate to love on the other," love story from Rose and Scorpius, theirs had begun at a joint 50th birthday party for Neville and Harry. Leaving early to get away from the racket of the Dumbledore's Army celebration to catch up somewhere quieter, the rest had been history.

"Well, someone has to cook. And you hate doing it." Hugo grinned.

"Yeah, but you love it." Alice replied laughing, "You could rival The Leaky Cauldron. But don't let my Mum hear that. She's a little biased, you see." She came to lean on the side of the kitchen counter, observing the cleaning for a few moments as it went along, before casting a gentle hand into Hugo's curly ginger hair as it fell forward. The coolness of her wedding and engagement rings briefly collided with his skin, and then drifted away once again.

The past year had been a hectic one to say the least, as was any within the Granger/Weasley/Potter family circle. But since their wedding ceremony in late January, the year had travelled in a blur of elation and content. After the whirlwind that had been 2035, Hugo couldn't possibly imagine the year getting any better.

"How come you're not with the others?" Hugo asked, curiously looking over to his wife, with a small smile.

"I thought I'd come and give you an extra present." She said casually.

"You didn't have to do that." Hugo said, turning to face her

"It was a little last minute, but I can't see a better time than now to give it to you." Alice added, handing a red and gold, by chance their Gryffindor colours, wrapped parcel from behind her back, to Hugo. Her composure didn't alert him to anything concerning, other than the fact that she seemed casually on edge, more so perhaps than he had seen her in years.

Taking a quick glance up at his wife to smile in reassurance, Hugo slowly unwrapped the paper, careful to do so neatly, regardless of the fact that she'd always said to him that wrapping paper was to be torn, not unfolded. One corner, then another, then the face of a book emerged, but this just wasn't any book. _The Little Book of Boys Names_.

His breath caught, and something within his circulation seemed to stop. Alice was known to give him books, as were, well… most people in his life. She'd always had excellent taste in gift selection, but this… This was something else entirely. The noise in the next room felt like it had stopped, even if the laughter and chatter kept spinning on. Suddenly, it seemed to be just he, Alice, and _the book_. "Alice?" He croaked, looking up to meet her eyes.

He was met by a nervous but steady smile, that seemed to grow wider by the second as she nodded slowly in confirmation. "3 months. I only found out a couple of days ago, can't believe we didn't realise soon-" The rest of her sentence was cut off as she was enveloped in a hug that pulled Alice off her feet. Sometimes she forgot how lanky he was, similarly to Ron had always been. As they pulled apart, the beam on Hugo's face seemed to be capable of being a muggle version of _lumos._

"Are you sure?" Hugo said, his voice shaking slightly.

"Yep, and it's a boy. We're going to have a son." She added grinning, and a wave of wild magic led to the smashing of the final plate Hugo had left levitating as he had washed it.

The contents of the next room fell silent, before a hesitant Hermione penetrated the quiet. "Is everything alright in there?"

Without thinking about it, without a second of thought, they were holding hands and rushing towards the doorway, and a breathless Hugo's voice shook with elation as he finally dropped the words. "We're having a baby."

And the air exploded.


	19. Inglorious Food

**Chapter 19: Inglorious Food**

 **Prompt #64: Sneaking**

 _29_ _th_ _July 2005_

"You'll need to be quick, or she'll notice." Harry muttered, enchanting the pan he'd been using to suddenly cool. Ron dropped the bag of supermarket food down on Harry and Ginny's kitchen counter, sliding into a chair.

"She won't… I think." Ron said. "I _hope_."

"Ron, you're married to Hermione Granger. She'll notice." Ginny replied, heaving James up from the where he'd been sat on the kitchen floor, fascinated by a toy car and into the high chair at the table.

"What's to say she will?!" Ron retorted, "I mean, she's a little all over the place at the minute, that doesn't mean that she'll be on top Hermione-form."

"She's pregnant. Her senses have gone, not her brain." Ginny said, "And if she heard you saying that she'd hex you back to 1995."

Ron took a sigh, scooping spilt yoghurt off his godson's hands with a tissue before muttering a Cleansing Charm. This hadn't been the finest of weeks, in terms of Hermione's situation, particularly regarding food. They had days where everything would be completely normal… and days where days where they'd have to take a different road when walking around London because the smell of that food behind a brick wall and in a fridge, was apparently too strong to even approach. Four months in, and between the vomiting, which to Ron's relief, was _finally_ getting less frequent, Hermione's temperamental bladder interrupting at _the_ most inconvenient times, and of course, the food, trying to grow a child was proving to be exhausting so far.

And that was just Ron.

"So," Harry began, "What mad concoction does she want this week?" It ended with a chuckle but that was quickly silenced by Ginny's stare.

"Tread carefully, Potter." She smirked, raising an eyebrow, "If you want any more children you'll choose your words carefully."

"Can we please not discuss the two of you conceiving children together? It's bad enough as it is." Ron interrupted gesturing to James, who gazed up with an uncannily in tune sad expression, before adding to the child a quick "No offence, pal."

"But you have a beautiful godson. How can you complain about us having children together?" Ginny retorted

Ron winced, "I love my godson, it's just how you created him that I don't want to think about." A silence fell between the three adults, diminished to children by Ron's frank disgust, only to the sound of James' babbling as once again he poured yoghurt onto the table; smothering his hands in the sticky substance before spreading them across Ron's arm leant on the table.

"So: Hermione?" Harry raised

"Oh yeah," Ron said, not noticing the mess his nephew had made as he tried to quickly consume the bacon sandwich. It never failed to amaze him how Harry, _Harry Potter_ of all people, had turned out to be a decent cook, or in this case sandwich builder. Where Ron had fallen into the pattern of good Weasley chefs, Ginny had made every effort possible to distance herself from that, and Molly despised it. "So, she's developed cravings, and you'd think they'd be really absurd like cheese and bananas together or chocolate all the time. But instead, she's there, at five in the morning realising that she wants couscous and hummus. I mean _couscous_ , of _all_ the things she could've chosen…"

"Why couldn't you have been that simple?" Harry sighed, looking to Ginny, "The amount of times I ended up bulk-buying chocolate frogs. Word will be getting to the Daily Prophet that I'm diabetic…"

"What can I say? That was James talking not me, and besides the chocolate has proved fitting to his Marauder-like ways. Ron, if the baby wants _couscous_ of all things, at least it sounds like they'll be a healthy eater." Ginny said

"Yeah, but they'll eat it by the tonne like Ron does with everything." Harry sniggered, "Still, it's typical Hermione behaviour: where you inhale whatever comes into your eyeline, even when she's meant to be binge-eating, she picks something healthy."

"Well, that's Hermione for you. At least the galleon to pound exchange rate isn't too bad right now, otherwise I'm be putting _Gemino_ curses on my money for these nine months." He smiled glancing at the clock and eyes suddenly widening, "Shi- I- I mean, _sugar_ is that the time? I'd best be going."

"Nice going, Ron, swearing in front of a one-year-old." Ginny sighed

"He won't remember it." Ron implored, "Besides, might be one of the last words he hears from his dead uncle before I get back. Thank you for the food, I owe you one." He added, scooping up the Sainsbury's bags and darting into the living room to Disapparate.

"Oh Ron wait! You've got yog-" Harry started but the familiar crackling sound that came with Apparition had already been and gone.

"Yoghurt on your sleeve." He finished, sighing ahead of the wrath Ron would face when he returned.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The Granger-Weasley house was silent as Ron carefully pushed the front door shut behind him. Midday light was trickling in from the landing window and the stained glass in the front door, leaving a kaleidoscope of red and blue to dance across the stairs. Plastic bag in tow, Ron couldn't decide on how Hermione would be upon realising he'd returned. Hormonally, she'd been rather collected so far, if very teary at times, but nevertheless, there were days when he wondered which Hermione he'd be returning home to that evening: the vomiting, the teary, the hungry, the sleepy, or just _his_ Hermione Granger.

By the time he'd made it into the kitchen, he could hear Hermione's soft footsteps slowly approaching, and without a hesitance, he gargled a drop of the mouthwash they'd started keeping in the kitchen since Hermione's nausea had begun. With seconds to shove the little bottle of blue liquid back into a cupboard and begin emptying the shopping bags, Hermione, hair wilder than wild, and surprisingly soft expression, entered the kitchen.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" Ron smiled and she drew a small grin

"Better, thanks. Managed to get some papers done for the case on Monday, so that should make the work lighter this weekend. Listen, I'm sorry about all this with the food…"

"Nonsense, you can't help it, and at least it means our future keeper is heal-"

"Wait." Hermione interrupted with sharp and sudden force, a puzzled expression clouding her profile. "What's that on your sleeve?" She added, gently reaching for his right arm.

 _Shit_. Ron thought, "Oh, I just stopped by Harry and Ginny's to drop something off Harry needed, and James lost control with the yoghurt. I was sort of going along with it."

The serious face softened once again and Hermione smiled, pulling him into an embrace, "Aww, that's sweet. _You're_ sweet."

"Well, I try." A grin spurred from Ron's ego-boost as Hermione laughed, leaning in to kiss him. _Thank Merlin, I'm in the clear._ But the kiss was brief, shorted by Hermione pulling away just as he'd shed his worries and deepened the movement. Her nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrowed, remaining in the embrace but looking at Ron with a piercing eye.

"Is that _bacon_?"

 **Author's Note: So I've been away for a while, unintentionally I might add, but longer than I ever intended to be. Because plot twist: I got a job at MuggleNet after an internship working for them, so that' fun and incredible and endlessly exciting. Between that and preparing for my upcoming exams, I've just not had time to write, but I wanted to write this before I disappear again and head back into my pit of revision ahead of the exams which should** _ **fingers crossed**_ **get me into my dream university. I'll be back in mid-June ready to burn my keyboard with all the fanfic ideas I have. For now,** _ **mischief managed**_ **.**


	20. Scarring

Chapter 20: Scarring

Prompt #6: Crying

 _August 2023_

They always knew they'd have to have this conversation eventually. It was one of the first discussions they'd had the day after Rose was born, when her tiny hand brushed against the long, jagged scar. There was always going to be a point when they'd have to tell them. The children had always seen the scar, and Hermione had done very little to conceal it in her life, but the unspoken agreement had transpired from early ages that this was a discussion that was off limits. The writing; the word "Mudblood", the harsh slices in the way Bellatrix had carved into Hermione's skin. One day they'd inevitably ask questions, but circumstances had changed, and now at the ages they were, it felt right to tell them as more books emerged about the Second Wizarding War and, as the media had so hideously coined it, "The Golden Trio."

Sitting the children down was easy, but finding the words to explain a well-memorised story was harder. This was a story that they'd had to explain to most allies who had locked eyes with the scar. Many people would never know what happened that night, and some would only know to a slight degree. But then there were Hermione's parents, who had cried the first time they'd noticed the scar when Hermione was washing up after Ron and her had had dinner with them. Molly and Arthur (although the latter passive whilst the former severely determined) had wanted to know everything that had happened in their time away, so as to make sense of it all. Nevertheless, they still would never know everything. Even Ginny would never know the full extent of what had transpired, no matter the transparency they aimed for – such as Ron's vision from the horcrux. Some things needed to be enclosed within the safety and security of the trio, but as time moved on their worlds got bigger, and thus the triangle needed to expand further.

Rose got up and left, walking into the kitchen. Hermione quickly followed after her, standing in the doorway between the two rooms, from where back in the living room they could hear gentle hushing, muffled voices, and the quiet redhead's tears.

It could never be easy for either of them to hear something like that, but they knew that at some point they would have to tell the now 17 & 15-year-old.

"Hugh," Ron croaked, looking towards his soon who is now struggling to gain eye contact. He turns, tears streaming to look at his father and mother who has turned her head, arms around his sister.

"Who-" his voice shook, standing up and glaring between them, "who does something like that?"

Neither of them could answer, because neither of them know what possesses someone… _anyone_ to believe that what happened that night was okay. Between the murder, torture, kidnapping and suicide that occurred that night, _nothing_ was okay. As reflected in the aftermath of the trials in which all three of them had to speak against what had happened at Malfoy Manor. As reflected in the recurring nightmares of that evening continuing on 25 years later. All they know is that she wasn't your average person. She was evil, and so was the world back then.

Instead he stood and enveloped his Hugo in an embrace, so as to both comfort his son and prevent him. From seeing his own tears, which had now started to drop and continue to burn at his pupils as they fell onto his cheeks.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Rose asked, almost uttering a whisper. They'd always know that something bad must have happened to be branded with that mark, but never told exactly what. Instead Rose and Hugo had been told a variety of things as young children, and even then, Hermione rarely wore something that didn't have long sleeves.

The past had never been sugar-coated, but this had been the moulding bread that you do not touch. Now the package had been opened, and they had to swallow the sour taste that their children were being exposed to a past that they never deserved to face.

 **A/N: Okay, I'm back after a bit of a break. I finished my A Levels 3 weeks ago, and am still adjusting to the sudden amount of time I have, becoming reacquainted with the lost hours, but I am back to writing fanfiction. This doesn't feel too great, and maybe that's just because I'm out of kilter still, but nevertheless, expect more in the near future.**


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Two down, Four Across

 **Prompt #39: News**

"Two down, and four across" Hermione said, looking up from the Sunday Times. As well as her subscription to the Daily Prophet, across the week, Hermione, Rose and Hugo had a tendency to collect muggle newspapers. The Guardian, the Independent, and a copy of the Bookseller sat spread across the coffee table. Now, all 4 of the Weasley's were sat in the living room, thumbing through the variety of papers

Ron tended to stick to the Daily Prophet. Whilst he was more than happy to venture out into Muggle traditions, which they had successfully blended with magical ones within their home over the past 23 years, when it came to news, he believed that the Prophet was best to stick by. "Besides," he once remarked "We have the news channel on the television."

Rose was different. She'd read the Daily Prophet in her own subscription, but also found herself peering into literary reviews and copies of a subscription based "The Bookseller." She thrived off knowing the latest book releases in both the magical and muggle world. Fiction and nonfiction. Hardback and paperback - again, in many ways so like Hermione. She read muggle papers, but mainly for their reviews of books, films, and the state of politics.

Hugo read anything he could get his hands on, only recently really getting into newspapers. Again, like his mother and sister, he would read anything and everything, not that it wasn't hard to access any of the books that lined the walls of each bedroom, the living room, and the family study (where most of Hermione's Minister for Magic papers were stacked neatly, along with Ron's papers and receipts for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Rose and Hugo's former schoolbooks.)

Hermione, read everything cover to cover, bar the sports sections. On the rare occasion that she did flick into those final pages, it would be to read something by Ginny, because whilst she had to admit that she'd never love Quidditch, it brought everyone else so much joy, and Ginny was in her eyes a fantastic writer for someone who had spent a lot more time focused on the broom rather than a quill in the former part of her career. On the whole, however, the sports section felt like uncharted territory that was uncharted for a reason.

"Huh?" Hugo said, hurriedly swallowing the remains of a piece of toast from lunch. Sundays were a mixture of quiet slumps and rushed days of productivity in the Granger-Weasley house. Both Rose and Hugo had – much to Hermione's chagrin, inherited Ron's love of sleep. On a bad day, it would take several rounds of trying to awake them before either child moved from underneath their duvet. Yet at the same time, most days they had Hermione's vigour for early morning rises and productivity. Sundays in the long days of summer where miraculous if they made it out of bed by ten, but today after coaxing with food on Ron's behalf and the casual threatening of water charms being conjured on their sleeping bodies, Granger, Weasley, and the two Granger-Weasleys were awake.

"Two down and four across in the _Sunday Times_." Hermione repeated and suddenly there was an emergence of two more copies of the same newspaper from under a stack of the many scattered editions from the past few days and their subscriptions. The sound of flickerings through paper as Rose and Hugo raced to reach the crossword page ignited in the room, and Ron raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who dismissed him with a bat of the hand.

"Okay Mum, go ahead." Rose said, shuffling into a fully straight and upright position, twirling a biro in one hand whilst pushing the quill that was currently resting behind her ear viciously into the bun resting atop her head.

"Two down. Twelve letters meaning fluent in speech." Hermione said watched as a cloud cast across Ron's face, he already baffled by what would inevitably unravel here.

"Sententious?" Hugo blurted, a flurry of whimsy as he brainstormed a scrawl of potential answers whilst simultaneously demolishing a bottle of ink that lay dripping on the table. A black sea amongst ivory papers and pine wood. Ron muttered a hasty " _Scourgify"_ before turning to Hermione with a smug grin.

"Sorry darling, that's eleven." Hermione smiled "I was thinking elocutionary."

"No, no… that wouldn't fit with the "h" in lathered." Rose sighed turning the page to look closer at the clues.

"Wait, where did you get 'lathered' from?" Hermione asked

"Three across is foam-covered, ergo lathered."

"Hang on. What about demosthenian?" Hugo suggested

"That's it. Perfect!"

Ron watched on, like a dog to a ping pong table, observing the ball being hit to one side, then to another, then to another, as the three Gryffindors who astonishingly weren't Ravenclaws bounced ideas off one another.

"Okay, four across. Tendency or partiality, six letters. Go!" Hermione said

Rose grinned, and within a matter of seconds, shouted aloud "Animus!"

"Yes!" Hugo and Hermione both cried, and Hermione scribbled it in, completing in scrabble. Silence fell once again as the Granger and Granger-Weasleys looked between one another. All that could be heard was the turn of the page from Ron, one leg crossed over the other in the armchair across from the fellow family.

Ron casually looked up from _The Daily Prophet_ with a bemused expression, somewhere better a smirk of humour and utter derision for the family of his own sprawled in front of his eyes. "I can't believe I created you two. Nerds." He sighed

"Ron!"

"What?! You're all nuts." Ron smirked, differing between amusement and pride for the fact that Rose and Hugo had inherited Hermione's brains and his hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get more toast; not that I need it, but my head's going to implode listening to all this gobbledygook. Why did I marry you?" He asked, turning to Hermione

"Because apparently you're into the bookish kind." Hermione beamed, winking at him

"Would you say you're… lost in _consternation_ , Dad?" Rose remarked, raising an eyebrow

Ron sighed, pivoting and heading out of the room with pace, "Yep, food is needed."

 **Author's Note: Me again! I've been sat on this one since early July 2016, so… a while, but life and A Levels. I'm not entirely sure it turned out the way I'd originally envisioned, but it has the general idea. Ideally, I'm going to try and get a few more chapters up over the next few days, but we'll see. For now, mischief managed.**


	22. Love is Love

**Chapter 22: Love is Love**

 **Prompt #33: "I love you." And Lips.**

May 2024

"I love you." Scorpius whispered standing next to Rose under an increasing reddening sky. Blue bled into yellow into orange, into red, and soon enough the stars would come, but for now, it was red. Red like Gryffindor, red like his girlfriend's fiery hair burning vibrantly against his own blonde. Red like a rose; his rose. Rose.

"What?" Rose blurted turning her head sharply, locking eyes with his slightly higher face. Azure resting on steel grey. They'd now been a couple for eight months, and after years of Scorpius' admiration being one-sided, Rose Granger-Weasley had to admit that the playing field had been levelled. For years she'd found him sweet, yet exceptionally awkward, and those things he still was, but after attending the Slug Club Christmas parties on two occasions with idiots, she'd returned to Hogwarts following sixth year Christmas holiday to find a certain Malfoy _far_ more appealing than they'd ever been before. Suddenly what she'd seen as once sweet was wildly attractive, and she didn't understand why it had taken her so long to realise what had been there all along. Someone who she actually liked and who liked her back.

From January to October had been an awkward stumble of Rose remaining totally composed, her usual controlled if stressed demeanour echoing through whilst trying to gradually let her guard down. Her uncle Harry had always said she'd inherited the best of both her parents: the intense work ethic from Hermione, and the calm attitude of Ron – with the exception of when it came to school and exam season. She'd shown that to Scorpius for years, but always with a slice of cold-shoulder on the side. Scorpius had always seen that, but everything had changed over the past couple of years, especially since the Time-Turner incident in fourth year.

Following what had happened that October, the frost between Rose and Albus had melted, mainly because Rose realised that she needed to get off the high centaur from which she was making judgements. Since then, the closeness between the two of them had wholly resealed, and Rose had gradually warmed to Scorpius as well, to the point where they were on "friendship terms". Apparently Rose had the grace of her father in taking so long to ask Scorpius out, according to Hermione, but finally she had, sealing what had been a procrastination and longing lust for a certain blonde, bookish Malfoy over the course of eight months.

Now here they were.

May was fast rolling to an end, with only hours left before it bled into June. All N.E.W.T exams had finished, and in two days they would leave Hogwarts for the final time, graduating and returning in the boats that they, and Albus, had so long ago first arrived in. While they had no idea just yet what exactly what the future would hold, they knew the immediate at least: they'd both secured exceptionally high grades, both had jobs lined up for September, and they had each other. Whether it had been the perfect moment or not for Scorpius to say this, as they sat under a tree, watching the sun slowly dance and sink into the Black Lake, was beside the point. Maybe she'd always had romanticised ideas of love, because of the stories of her parents and aunts and uncles and Teddy and Victoire, but Rose Granger-Weasley wasn't one to easily fall in love, or to feel so care for someone that they might implode. But now, as those words hung in the air, time seemed to halt.

"What do you mean, you love me?" Rose breathed, cocking her head to one side, and looking up to Scorpius from where she had removed her head from Scorpius' shoulder.

A small smile splashed on Scorpius' lips at her shocked expression. "I mean I love you."

Rose paused, gazing into his eyes. The sun behind her played on his steely iris's. Steel had always felt like such a harsh word for Scorpius. It never quite fit for someone so kind and anxious and gentle. Slate was more like it: wise, learned, beautiful. A part of her wanted to squirm at how romantic she had become, but her mind quickly smothered anything of the kind. Scorpius was Scorpius. Love was love. A hand reached up to his cheek, pushing a blonde hair back behind his ear.

"Yeah." She smiled, "I love you too." The crashing of his mouth onto hers silenced all other words, not that they were needed, he loved her and she loved him. Soon they would have to head back to the Castle, or McGonagall and Neville would throw a fit. Soon the red above them would turn into a dusty black, like ashes after a fire. But for now, they were here, opening doors as others closed, and that was enough.

 **Authors Note: Again, this is probably the time to say once again that I am a Scorose shipper, and think that Scorbus is to a degree "baseless" but rather just a very close friendship, because as masculinity changes, why can't men and boys have close friendships like that? Also, I know I haven't updated as much this summer as I intended to, which I myself am disappointed by. But life has been hectic. I still have a few weeks to write some more – because trust me I have the ideas just not the time. After that please have a little patience. Last week I got into my dream university, which if you've been reading my fanfics for a long time you'll know is all I've been working for. Once I start the semester, I'll have a lot less time, but I'll update when I can. So yeah… hopefully more coming soon.**


	23. Something There

Chapter 19: Something There

 **Prompt #93: "Delusional Idiot."**

 _19_ _th_ _March 2017_

It had been 2 hours of dancing candelabras, yellow dresses, and hints at bestiality, but now as the four Granger-Weasley's walked away from the Muggle cinema, there were springs in everyone's steps. Despite the harsh wintery wind nipping at each face, a quiet hum of _"Be Our Guest"_ could be heard from newly-turned nine-year-old Hugo as they wandered the long walk back to their Reading home. As they finally arrived at the little Gryffindor-red front door and Rose and Hugo rushed through to the kitchen where dinner had been promptly promised, a sudden rush of warmth came to both Ron and Hermione. At last out of the cold, the natural warmth of the house (partially thanks to Ron accidentally leaving the heating on earlier, then Hermione half-heartedly ranting to him about how they needed to save money, not throw it at the gas company) welcomed the unravelling of heavy coats and removal of boots.

"So what did you think?" Hermione asked, sitting on the bottom stair to untie the laces of her boots.

"I thought it was great. The kids were definitely into it though, right?"

"Oh yes. I don't think we've heard the last of that."

Ron paused with hesitance. "What do you mean?"

"Ron, we went back to the cinema twice to rewatch _The Fellowship of the Ring_ when that came out because you wouldn't shut up about it. They might want to do the same with this, and I wouldn't be surprised, given how happy they both were about it on the way home." Hermione sighed, sitting back as Ron came and joined her on the step below.

"I'll take them then, one day after school, if they mention it. Or we could go on at the weekend when you're off as well." Ron rushed and Hermione quirked a smile. "What?"

"You- you just seem to be really into it. As much as they are. And it's nice."

"How could I not be? In case you missed it, I'm mad for brown-haired bookworms." Ron said. Hermione placed a kiss on his crown before stretching to head into the kitchen. "At least Rosie won't want to dress up as her. Speaking from experience yellow will _not_ go with the hair."

"She's eleven. Besides, she was always into Merida – probably for the hair – back then." Hermione replied. "We could do that again, if they're both up for it. We've got less than six months with our daughter, we should make the most of it, featuring cinema trips. It's a good way of us all spending time together."

"Mum! Dad!" Rose called from the kitchen, Hermione slowly headed through the warm living room, casually casting a silent " _incendio_ " to get the fire burning. Though it was mid-March by now, and spring was definitely here to stay for a while, the cool chills of winter still brushed through the South East of England; the past bleeding into the present. Rose and Hugo were sat peering over a printed brochure of cinema listings, with the film they'd just witnessed heavily plastered on the cover and the main pages. Rose's mane of red hair, just like Hermione's brown when she was that age and now, was spread wildly over her hair, hanging over where she was looking down.

"What is it, darling?" Hermione asked gently, entering the kitchen

"See, I told you." Hugo said, nudging his older sister, his own short red curls bouncing on his head.

"Told you what?" Hermione questioned

Rose sighed, "Hugo thinks you look like Belle, Mum."

"Ha!" Ron announced, "I told you, 'Mione. Bookish, brown-haired, songstresses."

Hermione rolled his eyes, "You know I don't sing, _Ronald_. But that means, if I'm Belle, then _you're_ the Beast."

Ron paused in his tracks on the way to the oven. Pans were flying behind him and the children had to duck their heads as with the distraction from the spell, the crockery fell to the floor, Hermione quickly intervening with a cushioning charm. "What?"

"If you're all insistent on me being Belle, then _you're_ the Beast, aren't you?" She raised an eyebrow at her husband, seeing the glee on her children's faces. Even still, as they aged, they delighted in the to and throw of their mother and father's teasing one another.

"Alright." Said Ron, "We're going again, next Friday. And there'll be _something_ there that wasn't there before."

 **Author's Note: Hello, me again. This is another one of those that didn't turn out anywhere near as strong as I had first envisioned, but I didn't want to waste the premise that I'd thought of months ago. Life is** _ **hectic as hell**_ **right now: I'm moving to university next weekend and packing is going to be a long process, but I want to get one more chapter up before I go – so fingers crossed! Also, just over a week ago, I FINALLY saw** _ **Cursed Child**_ **in London – absolutely phenomenal, if you can and love the script, you MUST see the play!**


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